The Vampire Files, Volume Two

by P. N. Elrod

  Both were beautiful machines; it wasn’t their fault they’d caught the eye of someone like Kyler, so I drew the line at breaking the headlights off or any other obvious, crippling vandalism. Deflating tires was easy and effective enough; I stuck with what I knew best. The angry hiss of compressed air was loud, but nobody came out to check things. As soon as the rims were flush with the gravel, I took off, leaving behind the road-house palace and its dismayed and murderous senechals.

  It took a full hour and then some to get there, and then I had to cruise slowly so as not to miss the spot off the road where Coldfield said he’d be waiting. In the summer it was sheltered by thick shrubs; now only black, branchy skeletons remained, clutching their tattered leaves like precious memories being dragged along to the grave. Despite their thin ranks and my excellent night vision, I had to look carefully before finding Coldfield’s Nash.

  My headlights were on so as not to annoy the traffic cops, so he naturally spotted me first. But I was startled at how fast he emerged from his car and downright alarmed when he crouched behind the armored door to point his gun in my direction. One of his men dropped out the driver’s side, nervously copying him.

  Maybe stealing one of Kyler’s highly identifiable Caddies hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. Belatedly, I hit the brakes, doused the lights, and rolled down the window to shout at him.

  He recognized my voice and cautiously emerged. “You alone, Fleming?” he demanded, meaning that I’d damn well better be.

  “Yeah,” I wheezed, recalling how he hated surprises. I cut the motor and got out slowly. “Just me, myself, and I.”

  He finally put away the gun and came over to glare at the Caddy. “How the hell did you manage this one?”

  “The other car had bad tires.”

  He harked out an unexpected laugh and thumped me on the back so hard that I nearly fell over. “All right, let’s work out what needs to be done.”

  It seemed pretty plain to me. “First I find out if they’re there, then I go get them.”

  “While I twiddle my thumbs?”

  “I know the inside of the house.”

  “So does Isham,” he said, with a brief gesture toward the Nasb, where his driver waited. “He helped with the catering of a lot of parries there once.”

  I could see that we were heading for a long argument, so I gave in, up to a point. “Okay, but we can’t all three go in or Angela will have more hostages than she knows what to do with.” Or targets, I added to myself. “How about Isham comes with me and you hang back and cover us?”

  “Not too far back,” he rumbled. “We’ll move up close to the front gate with the car. I’m not crazy about a walk through the woods in this weather.”

  The wind was light, but dismal to stand in. We hustled into the temporary protection of the Nash and Isham got it in gear.

  “Just how did you take care of Kyler?” Coldfield asked.

  I gave him an almost truthful story, leaving out a few important points about invisibility, failed hypnosis, and saying that I ducked and ran when Chaven started shooting. It was one of my more demandingly creative efforts.

  “You must know how to run pretty damn fast,” he commented, but left it at that. We’d once shared a nasty street brawl together and he apparently remembered that I could really move when sufficiently inspired.

  Isham stopped and set the brake. “Ready,” he said, his inflection so neutral that I couldn’t tell if it was a statement or a question.

  We got out and checked the lock on the front gates. It wasn’t much, just a length of chain with a padlock holding it together, a bit down in the world from the armed guards and dogs that once patrolled the place. Maybe Angela could no longer afford them. Isham got some large bolt cutters from the trunk and snapped open a key link. Coldfield took charge of them and wished us luck as we slipped inside.

  It was a long trudge down the gravel drive to the house, or perhaps the wind only made it seem so. I didn’t mind much, but Isham looked pretty miserable, and things would only get worse for him before too long.

  Lights glowed in some widely separated windows, but we paid more attention to the dark ones. If Angela had anyone on lookout duty, they’d be hiding here. Nobody yelled, though, so we moved on like we belonged until we came to the inadequate shelter of a work shed. It was locked up, but the clapboard sides of the building cut the wind down to nothing, which was very fortunate for Isham. Our parting conversation was brief, onesided, but absolutely necessary. I left him awake and alert, but had persuaded him to stay behind. Better for him to wait for my return than to have both of us in the house dodging around for cover that might not exist. It worked out fine for him; he thought it was all his idea. As for me, all I got was the start of a really nasty headache.

  Free of Isham, I was able to move much faster and had no need to conceal my supernatural abilities. Rounding the nearest corner of the house, I vanished and forced my way through one of the many windows. Glass isn’t my favorite material to sieve past; it’s like falling through the ice in a pond, only the ice doesn’t actually break. I always expect ir to, though, which is why I usually avoid it. Tonight I was in too much of a hurry to bother. Wish I had; the extra effort took its toll on my head when I materialized on the other side.

  The room I stood in was unfamiliar, but deserted. The lights were out in this wing of the house. Angela was either saving on the bills or the repairs hadn’t gotten as far as fixing the wiring here yet. I picked my way around water-damaged furniture and eased open the door. The hinges creaked, but not too loudly. The hall was clear.

  Trusting my ears and eyes to keep me out of trouble with the tenants, I checked likely and unlikely rooms on the ground floor. Some were untouched by fire and water, others were still a mess, and a few were in a halfway stage of repair. None of them were presently occupied. I blamed the late hour and could guess that Angela’s boys were upstairs tucked away in their beds.

  Wrong. Two of them were raiding the kitchen icebox for beer and sandwiches. They sounded oddly domestic as they cut bread and searched for the bottle opener, but their talk gave no clue about Escott. I was about to slip off when instead of sitting at the table to eat, they loaded everything onto a tray and went down another hall.

  Long experiences had taught me that it was anatomically impossible to kick oneself. I settled for giving them a good start and cat-footed after them.

  They were going to the private gymnasium. Vanishing, I rushed ahead to scour the place and found two people there, one stretched out on a table and the other sitting close by. Neither was doing much of anything. Fine and dandy. I whipped into the steam room where Newton had stashed me earlier and got my hunch paid off.

  ”Jack?” came Escott’s inquiring whisper as I brushed past him.

  He was alone. With some difficulty, I re-formed; this time my head was so bad that I staggered smack into one of the benches, barking my shins painfully against the wood. Twisting, I dropped onto the seat with a jolt. Rough landing, but at least I was still in one piece.

  “That sudden chill was not my imagination, then,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “Dizzy. All this Houdini stuff takes it out of me.”

  “Well, it is good to see you, my friend.”

  I was surprised that he could. In addition to the scrapes and black eye he’d already collected, his other eye was swollen shut and he held one arm protectively against himself. His long legs were drawn up on the bench, helping him to keep his back braced in a tiled corner. He was white to the hairline and looked about as steady as a guttering candle.

  I forgot about my own troubles. “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

  His mouth twitched. “Opal,” he said dryly. “And, to a lesser extent, Miss Paco. I fear that one day a woman may prove to be my ultimate downfall.”

  “It’s my fault, Charles. I wasn’t careful enough about watching for tails when I brought Opal in.”

  He gave a minimal shrug with his eyebrows. “So
I deduced when they broke into the building.”

  “Jeez, what else did they break? Your arm?”

  “I think not, bad bruise at the worst, but I’ve a devil of a pain along the ribs. They’ll need taping, I’m sure.”

  “Who hit you?”

  “Opal … with a packing crate. Damn good luck for me that she did or I’d have come to a bad end then and there. Angela Paco was that close to blasting me into the next world.”

  “Good God.”

  “No doubt. He has spared me for some other purpose for which consideration I am truly thankful. No, please don’t try to help, I’ve just got comfortable.”

  “I’m sorry.” An apology had never seemed so inadequate before.

  He waved it away. “Hardly your fault, old man. It’s part of the job. I hope that you’re here to help get me away from this place?”

  “Only by the shortest possible route. Isham’s just outside the house and Shoe’s got a car waiting at the gate.”

  “Excellent,” he sighed with quiet approval.

  “Where’s Opal?”

  “With Miss Paco, I think. They left me in here some time ago. Is Gordy all right? And what about Miss Smythe?”

  “Yeah. They’re fine.”

  “And Vaughn Kyler?”

  It was hard work to talk about that subject, but I did give him a very short summary of what I’d been through. “Chaven must have gotten the worst surprise of his life when Kyler dropped,” I concluded.

  Escott exhaled a long breath and tilted his head back against the wall. “What a gift for understatement the gentleman has.”

  “It’s still not over.”

  “True. But you sound better able to handle it.”

  “I sure as hell don’t feel it.”

  “You do look rather done in. Perhaps Shoe was right about taking a vacation. A few weeks in the Mexican sun would surely be of far less harm to you than all this bother has been.”

  If I’d had the energy, I might have laughed at that one. Instead, I got to my feet with a groan and went to work again.

  He watched me through one slitted eye as I prowled to the small set-in window to get a look at the mugs outside. The door was secured shut this time; I had to settle for a sideways glance through the little square of double-paned glass, but it was enough. Newton, Lester, and some other guy out of the same mold were draped on various exercise benches, putting away the beer and sandwiches. They were making too much talk among themselves to notice our whispered conversation. Near them on the massage table lay Vic, lone survivor of last night’s interrupted kidnapping. He was wrapped up in a ton of bandaging and looked asleep.

  “Now what about you?” I asked, turning back. “What’s your story?”

  He frowned. “Well, it’s all so bloody embarrassing, isn’t it? Though I’m content now that things turned out as they did. The alternative Miss Paco had in mind hardly bears thinking about.”

  “Charles …”

  “Yes. Well. They broke open the door below, and that awakened Opal from her slumber. I must say the girl recovered herself rather well. She immediately assumed that it was her employer come to rescue her and delayed me for a few crucial moments. She made a devil of a row and that brought the intruders straight up the stairs.”

  “No time to shoot?”

  Another grimace. “More like a catastrophic lack of inclination. The first one up was Miss Paco herself. I was ready, but damn it, I just couldn’t bring myself to kill a woman … a girl, really. While I hesitated, Opal hit me from the side with that bloody packing case and inadvertently saved my life by getting in Miss Paco’s line of fire. I’m not sure what followed, but the next thing I knew I was at the bottom of the stairs with the breath knocked right out of me and unable to move. Eventually Opal realized her mistake, Miss Paco got things sorted out, and we were all bundled into a truck and brought here.”

  “They say why?”

  “No.” He correctly read my expression. “You’ve learned something?”

  I told him about Frank Paco.

  “Well, well,” he said after a moment.

  “Is that what you’d call ‘a spanner in the works’?” I asked.

  “More like the whole tool kit. No, strike that. Frank Paco’s involvement only lends complete logic to his daughter’s actions. If anything, it’s Kyler’s unexpected death that will cause the greatest disruption.”

  “That’s what I came up with, but it might not change stuff that much. Chaven still needs Opal back, and I figure he’ll want to bump you off just to make a neat package, so you two have got to get out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

  He readily agreed. “To that end I suggest you locate Opal next, and from there we may work out a practical exit from this place.”

  I wasn’t crazy about leaving him alone now that I’d found him. “I don’t know about that.”

  He made a deprecatory gesture at the bare walls. “The decor is somewhat lacking in interest, but I can survive it a while longer. As for those fellows outside, I’m content that they shall continue to ignore me as long as I remain quiet. Do go on and find the young lady; I’ll be safe enough here.”

  My friend, the optimist. Movement outside caught my eye. I pressed my face against the glass for a better look.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Doc just came in. I may have to get scarce.”

  Out of his bathrobe and into a suit, Doc gave the illusion of sobriety until you saw his face. His eyes were bright but wandering, and his arms swung long and loose. His legs were still steady, so he was probably good for a few more miles, yet.

  “It’s time,” was all he said.

  Newton and Lester finished off their beer and got up. Without hurry, they went to Vic and pulled him to his feet. He wouldn’t stay there. His head rolled, dropping to his chest as they dragged him out. Doc trailed after them.

  I glanced at Escott. “They just took Vic for a walk. What say we do the same?”

  “And Opal?

  “I’ll come back for her later. Right now there’s only one guy watching things. A better chance might not turn up again.”

  He gave out with a twitch of the lips and a very small nod. I think he was too done in to argue much on Opal’s behalf; that or he figured she owed him one for braining him so hard.

  I started to slip away, but the familiar dissolving of self into weightless nothing would not come. The effort brought back the dizziness, and I had to grab my now thundering head with both hands. It felt like someone had rammed a spike right into my brain.

  “What is it?” Escott demanded softly.

  “Tired,” I mumbled. I could hardly hear myself. After a few moments, the roaring subsided a little and I pushed out a few more words. “Keen doing this too much. Tired.”

  “Perhaps a trip to the Stockyards would not be amiss,” he suggested, an uneasy tone to his voice.

  “Yeah.” Simple to say, hard to fulfill, but a long drink was what I needed. I thought of that while giving myself a minute to figuratively catch my breath. When I felt ready, I tried again.

  Nothing.

  I’d anticipated either vanishing or more pain, but not this. For the lust time in months a layer of sweat broke out on me, flaring over my entire body, and settling around my flanks and groin. “They turn the heat on in here?” I whispered thinly.

  But Escott could see something was seriously wrong and that the joke was meant to cover my fear. “Sit down, Jack. You look ghastly.”

  I didn’t have much choice in the matter. My legs sagged all on their own, and with my back to the door for support, I slid right to the tiles.

  Despite his damaged ribs, Escott got over to me. He knew better than lo check for a pulse, but did get a hard look at my face. It must have been bat) news.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like hell with a hangover.” I raised a lax hand to swipe at the sweat on my forehead. An abrupt whiff of my own scent came to me from the motion. It was faint, but unmist
akable. You know it by instinct and you never, never forget it: the warm, sweet, rotten stink of death.

  9

  ESCOTT may have noticed it or not, but knew instinctively that I was in more than ordinary trouble. “Come, get up on this bench by the door.”

  I slowly obeyed. It was better than giving in to the cold clot of fear creeping up my throat. My body seemed heavy, as though it were sunrise already, with my limbs stiffening and mind slowing. I tried to shake out of it, but that made me dizzy again.

  “You’re unable to vanish? Is that it?” he asked, once I was settled.

  “Guess so.” I was reluctant to admit it and thus make it real.

  “Has this ever happened to you before?”

  It was difficult to think. “That time I got stabbed. And wood does it, too.”

  “What about those shots you took earlier? Would they have this kind of effect on you?”

  “Maybe. Lost some blood then … shook me up bad. It’s never hit as hard as … I’ve been doing too much of the Cheshire cat stuff tonight.” Far too much, I thought unhappily.

  “Perhaps you’ve discovered your limits, after all,” he mused, but he wasn’t trying to be funny.

  I again mopped at the uncharacteristic and disturbing sweat. Its deathsmell remained, clinging to the sleeve of my coat like some perverse perfume. “I feel like a squeezed-out sponge.”

  “You look it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Right, then let’s see about getting out of here for that trip to the Stockyards. I’ve no doubt that you need to replenish your internal supply as quickly as possible.”

  He started knocking on the door to get the guard’s attention. It took forever. Escott kept himself close to the window so the man wouldn’t see me.

  “I say there,” he began loudly to make himself heard. He was putting on his broadest English accent. It was a parody of his normal pattern of speech, different enough to tip me off that he was up to something, but only because I knew him. The other guy didn’t.