After Dark (The Vampire Next Door Book 2) (6 page)

They got into his Pontiac and headed down the crowded street back to the art gallery. “But you didn’t finish the part about the spoiled princess.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got to leave you hanging. It gets you to worry about something else besides the right way to do laundry.”
And killing yourself.

But he couldn’t say that.

“Well?”

He guided the long convertible into the small yard behind the old Victorian house that served as both his home and art gallery. She followed him up the back steps, carrying her food, and into the total darkness of his home.

“Can I see some of your paintings some time?”

“Sure. Some time.” He paused to turn on a light for her as she entered.

“You can see in the dark, can’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered simply, as if it were nothing.

She watched as he went into his small kitchen. “You mind if I eat?”

“No.”

And so she sat down on his living room couch and began to eat with the plastic fork that came in the package. “I’m starving.”

“Yeah. So am I.”

“What?”

“Why do they always jump when we say that?” the bell on the microwave dinged and he came back into the living room with a large mug in his hand.

She stared at him as he took a sip. He picked up the newspaper that was on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Holy shit, Laura. Look at this. A homeless guy was butchered in an alley just a couple of blocks from here. Beaten to death. Neighborhood has just gone to hell.”

She continued to eat her egg roll.

“No suspects either. Jesus, some nut is on the loose in this neighborhood. Pretty damn scary.”

She swallowed quickly to avoid talking with food in her mouth. “It isn’t me, because I’m just a coward and I’m not even brave enough even to commit suicide without any help, and it can’t be you, because you won’t even kill me.”

He glared at her and answered back sarcastically. “Yeah, I know. I’m really useless,” and he took another sip from the mug he was holding.

“That is from an animal, right?” She kept eating and did not really care where it came from.

“Well, the neighbor’s kids were always stealing my hubcaps, so... Yes, of course it’s from an animal. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted. “I mean, I really don’t.” She daintily wiped her mouth with her napkin. “It’s rather interesting, really.”

He continued to read the newspaper, struggling to ignore her, trying to gently shut her out.

He discovered that babysitting would not exactly be stress free after all. But what would the consequences be if he didn’t watch over her? She was intelligent, well educated, but extremely lost and alone. He could suggest that she see a psychiatrist, but when he was young he heard of how they treated patients with shock treatment and lobotomy, and wasn’t sure if the profession had evolved much over the decades.

“Can’t you tell me what happened?”

“Hmm?”

“The princess? You said you would tell me about the princess?”

“Oh.” What a pain in the— “Well, the feudal overlord,” he continued, “who was really a wealthy thug, as were most of them back then, found that someone was poaching his deer. And so he sent soldiers to harass the people in the village to find out who was taking the deer.”

Martin went in through the front door. If he did otherwise he would be swiftly removed. He knew that.

He looked around; the music was so intense it shot right through him and shook the floor as he walked on it. The lights—pink, purple, red, neon blue, flashed all around, pulsating with the overpowering music. He was surrounded: men with long purple hair, three inch black nails, some had rings in their noses, in their lips; women with shaved heads and only leather scraps and fishnets for clothing. On the dance floor they writhed and slithered like serpents.

With his clothes—jeans, T-shirt, old brown corduroy jacket—it was sickeningly obvious that he was a cop. Probably a dumb one, too.

But he needed to find Leon. He could get him in, maybe.

Leon was at the bar, where he usually was. Martin saw him through the dance club’s semi-darkness. He needed to get across the floor to see him, work his way through the crowd. It sounded easy enough, but he didn’t know which people were which. He did not know which people were simply just weird ugly punkers, and which just might be one of Them. Most likely the majority of the people on the dance floor were just freaks, and not vampires, he guessed. Probably because he remembered once hearing that vampires didn’t like loud music. He made his way carefully.

“And what can I get for you, Detective Atkinson?”

“Leon, you wanna not yell out loud here what my orientation is, please?” But then again, the music was so loud, maybe no one would hear. And most of the people looked pretty spaced out anyway.

Leon laughed, actually seemed a little happy to see him.

Martin wasn’t even sure about Leon, who, or what, he was. He was pretty damn friendly with Them; strangely enough he could also be seen walking around in broad daylight, too.

“Just get me someone to talk to.”

“I’m all ears! Hey, people get drunk and tell me all their problems every night, all night!”

“No, not like that. I mean Irina. Is she around?”

“She’s always here. You should know that.”

“Can I see her?”

He was led up to the top floor of the building by some extremely pale individual that Leon found to escort him up the elevator. Apparently they didn’t want people wandering through the place unsupervised. The guy who brought him up took him to a lavishly furnished room and politely told him to wait, then left him alone.

He was relieved when he left, but what was next?

If necessary, he did have his gun. According to legend, that was pretty useless, but he did hear otherwise. Perhaps it would slow one of them down long enough for him to get away.

Damn it, he thought, I shouldn’t have even bothered with this stupid experiment.

He remembered that he expected her office, her living quarters, the space where she hid all day, to be down below, down below in the darkness where they all gathered and fed.

Thinking of it disturbed his stomach.

To distract himself he looked at his surroundings. The room was softly, dimly lit. The furniture was Victorian, in excellent condition, probably genuine, not reproduction, he guessed. The walls were covered with exquisite artwork. At least she had taste for something else besides...

A door opened; he turned to look. It was her daughter Alexandra, who was also a manager for the businesses Irina owned. “She will see you now.”

He rose to follow her and he watched her as she walked in front of him. She wore a plaid dress. It was plain and simple, but not while it was on her. Her long straight golden hair cascaded gently down her back.

To watch her made him weak.

She opened a door for him. Irina sat at her large mahogany desk. “Thank you, Alexandra.” She stood up. “And how are you, Detective Atkinson? It has been a long time. Do sit down, make yourself comfortable.”

The door closed behind him, leaving him alone with her. He found a seat near her desk and sat. He noticed the extremely ornate, delicate tea cup she sipped from. There was no tea bag. Then he noticed the brochures. “Now,” she began in her lightly accented voice. “Martin help me!” She held up one of the glossy pamphlets. When she moved her arm he saw several, not one, but several diamond bracelets wrapped around her thin white wrist. The brochure had photographs of an expensive looking sedan, but he could not read it because the room was so poorly lit. “I am trying to decide. They are all so lovely! Perhaps the Lincoln? Instead of the Cadillac? But it is difficult. Which color? If I do not decide, I shall have to buy three of them because I cannot make up my mind on which color. Life can be so difficult.”

“I don’t know what color you should get, Irina. I really don’t.”

“Well, never mind it then. Shall I have them bring you coffee?”

“No. That’s okay, Irina.”

“Oh, but you must have something.” She picked up her phone. “Let me call the kitchen for some pastries for you. Some tea, maybe? And you can talk me into buying a Lincoln instead of a Cadillac. Or three of them, or one of each. You know I am still very distraught lately, after what happened to my Crown Victoria. I would love to just get my hands on the thieves, they all should be shot. No. Sent to Siberia!” she laughed. “Where there are hungry wolves and bears and endless snow. I suppose they dumped it into the ocean, after stripping it.” She went on complaining about the loss of her car and how some of her jewelry and her purse were on the front seat at the time.

She was an attractive woman; she wore a dark silk dress and a long string of pearls. She of course did not look her age, and she would never tell anyone what her age was; but by the way she spoke of the Russian Revolution he knew she wasn’t as young as she looked.

A petite blonde waitress came in with a tray of cakes and pastries, a pot of tea for him, and another teacup already filled for her.

He simply did not like the idea of eating in front of any of Them. Especially not while They were drinking That. They told him more than once it was from slaughterhouses, but did he really know that for sure?

“No, Irina. No one has discovered the remains of your car.” She was wearing him down; his voice betrayed it.

“Oh well. It’s just making me upset. Let’s talk of something else. How is the little girl? What is her name?”

“Jennifer.”

“Still all alone?”

He winced. His wife died five years ago when the restaurant where she worked was held up by an armed robber who was high on crack and carrying a machine gun; she was gunned down along with several other innocent people.

“Yes.” he answered simply.

“A little girl needs a mother.”

Oh hell. “Irina. I didn’t come for any social reason. There’s been a murder.”

“And so, the big thug who called himself Lord Whoever, his name escapes me now, sent his little thugs into the helpless village to abuse the peasants. They torched their simple homes, killed the animals, and so on. Hey, didn’t I tell you all this already?”

“How awful. This really happened? No, you really didn’t tell me all of this. You stopped, remember? Because you got worried someone might hear you. I’m sorry I said that thing out loud. I feel really stupid again.” She was now flat on the couch in the darkness, with the old hand made woolen blanket to cover her. The only light came in through the window, letting in the glow from the moon and stars.

She listened as he moved about quietly through the dark. He got up suddenly to go into the small kitchen to satisfy his ceaseless yet strangely civilized hunger. “And so then the people became extremely terrified and told the soldiers of the vampire who hunted the deer by night. In those days, no one questioned that. It was fact, simple as that. Well, the soldiers brought word back to their lord and his mind began to work when he got the information—”

“What do you mean?” she interrupted. He returned with a full bottle in his hand and sat by her once again. She felt that she should be made nervous by this, but he was being well-fed, she reasoned. And what did it matter, anyway, if he did suddenly turn on her in the dark of night when she was vulnerable. Wasn’t that what she really wanted?

She didn’t know anymore.

“You people today know very little of our history. We were not always savagely hunted by the fabled mobs of peasants carrying torches, chasing us through the woods with hounds. No. In ancient times, when Rome ruled the world we were treated almost like gods. On the surface, that sounds good, but not quite. There are tales of one sect that would like to keep one of us, always only one, easier to keep that way, and once captured we were not allowed to leave the temple. They say we could have anything we demanded for comfort, except freedom. Another group of people in Eastern Europe would encourage us to join their warriors to intimidate their enemies, we could always find a job that way as a paid mercenary, paid in money, or in other ways.”

“Would you be good at it?” she wondered out loud.

“Excuse me?” he did not fully understand the question.

“As a warrior, I mean?” he did appear to be very strong, though he was thin and pale.

“Not me personally. I’m the type who just hangs around and watches TV all night, when I’m not painting or running the store downstairs.”

“But way back then, I mean—”

“I suppose, if the attack came before dawn.”

“I see.”

“And of course some people always feared us, believed we were cursed, the walking dead, and so on. But back to the story. The lord in his castle was probably most typical of his day. Remember, this is the Dark Ages. A man’s worth was measured in how many slaves he had, how many people he killed, how many weapons he owned. And now, he thought about this. ‘A vampire, loose in my forest. I must have it.’”

“Have it?”

“Yes, own him. Like a very expensive hound, or a new kind of war horse, he wanted to own him, control him, keep him, like a domesticated animal. But how? In what way could he be contained?”