Forsaking (Vampire Assassin League Book 26) (4 page)

The phone in his chest pocket vibrated again. The low rumble caused more than one person to look in his direction. Bram pulled the slim phone out with one hand and put his cards atop the table with the other. Face down.

“I am going to have to take this call,” he informed them.

“Not with an open game,” one of them remarked.

“You know the rules,” the dealer informed him.

Bram sent a glance toward the pile of ten thousand dollar chips in the center of the table, moved it back to his cards. He had a royal flush. The phone rang again. His palm shook with it. He sighed, snagged his hat off the empty chair beside him with his free hand and spun it before settling it atop his head.

“Very well, gentlemen. Ma’am.” He nodded to the others, tapped his hat brim, and then smiled. “I fold.”

He pushed the chair away from the oversized mahogany table and rose in one fluid, soundless motion. The chair wouldn’t have made sound anyway. It was atop expensive carpet. He was in one of the high stakes rooms, facing five opponents: four men, one woman.

A woman.

Playing poker.

That took some getting used to.

Well
. The gender of the players might have changed. The game hadn’t. Bram was really good at noticing player quirks. The woman licked her ruby-red lips if she was concerned about the hand. One gentleman tugged an earlobe. Another fidgeted on his seat, making slight rustling noises. The final fellow had a true poker face, but didn’t keep the same control over his fingers. He’d tighten them on his cards occasionally.

The players facing him were dressed expensively. Fancy suits. Ties. The lady was in full evening attire, in a shade of red that almost matched her lips. Bram looked out-of-place in dark denims and one of his custom-tailored western shirts. He wore a belt fashioned of embossed leather with a large buckle. Bolero tie. He’d brought one of his fancy hats. He also sported a gun belt on his hips, although it was empty at the moment. He’d had a Colt. They’d made him check it. The weapon had set off all kinds of alarms when he’d first arrived.

That had been before he proved his financial ability, greased some palms, and gained access to this room...along with three large, beefy-looking, security types that probably still hovered at the elevator foyer. He’d guess they’d be spending the time checking and re-checking their reflections in the long window overlooking the city.

Dobb Lake had certainly altered since Bram had last come over the hill. This place wasn’t a town anymore. It could claim the moniker of city. The view from that long window in the elevator foyer backed it up. He checked it out as they’d waited for entrance. The city had all kinds of streets, traffic, and lights. All of it easily delineating the size of Dobb Lake.

It was late. He didn’t know how late. Past nightfall. Before dawn. There wasn’t a window in the playing room. Actually, no casino ever had windows in their gaming areas. It would be bad for business. It might distract. Bring people to their senses. Bring an addict out of a ‘fix’. That included the gamblers in this high stakes room.

Everyone had started with at least two hundred grand. Bram’s total was considerably higher now. The bag hanging at his hip bulged with winnings. No one looked uncomfortable about it, although they had exhibited annoyance more than once. That’s what made the game so enticing. Besides, everyone looked like they could afford to lose. That’s why they were here. This room was exclusively for the very well-heeled. They’d been brought up an elevator by two extremely good-looking gentlemen in tuxedos. Drinks were provided. Expensive cigars were available. All of it catered by gorgeous ladies in revealing attire.

Bram waited for the door to open for his exit. A distinct buzzing sound accompanied the unlocking. He clicked the connect button on his cell as one of the tuxedoed gentlemen opened the door for him. He wondered if anyone would check his cards before taking them. A loud whistle behind him gave the answer. He shrugged and stepped into the foyer.

He’d been right. The three security guys were there waiting for him. One spun from contemplation of his reflection in the glass. He didn’t note that Bram’s was missing. Bram looked at each in turn. Focused. Watched their eyes glaze over. He snickered slightly once everyone was mesmerized and then lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello.”

“Ah. There you are, Bramwell. I was beginning to wonder.”

It was Akron, the leader of the Vampire Assassin League. Bram hadn’t been expecting that. He subconsciously stood straighter. Cleared his throat. Answered at a slightly lower timbre. “Sir?”

“How are things?”

“Passable.”

“Anything strange happening in your neck of the woods?”

“No.”

“Ah. I do so enjoy conversing with a cowboy. They’re so...chatty and forthcoming with information.”

“I just left a winning poker hand.”

“You’re gambling?”

“Yep.”

“That’s interesting. Private club?”

“Casino. High stakes room.”

“You’re in a casino?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. I bet that caused a stir.”

“Some.”

“I thought you hated crowds. Light. Parties. I might as well just put it in an all-encompassing term. I thought you detested anything enjoyable...since it might break through your self-imposed afterlife of penance-like behavior.”

Bram waited a few moments before replying. “You saying something with those words?”

“Just making conversation. Was it a big pot?”

“A million. Maybe more. Maybe less.”

Akron whistled. The receiver shrilled with it. Bram pulled the cell away from his ear for a moment.

“Well. Allow me to make it up to you, then.”

“You have a job?”

“I do. And it’s right in your vicinity.”

“I don’t have a vicinity. Not anymore.”

“Well. That does explain the casino visit. Burning your bridges, are you?”

“Just enjoying some last hours.”

“Last hours? Hmm. Cryptic. I take that to mean you are relocating?”

“You want to tell me about the job, Sir?”

“We are nearly out of time, Bramwell. Grab another cell.”

Bram snapped the cell phone shut. Slid it behind a bit of wall molding where it might never get discovered. Snagged another one from the case in his pocket. Hit the connect button as it vibrated. Akron was on the line an instant later.

“Jobs can wait, Bram. Associates do not. I need your answer. I’m assuming your words mean you are relocating. That is why you’d shed anonymity, visit a casino, and probably reap more than one interested look. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you like Dobbin Creek. Spent decades on renovations.”

“Yeah. Well...things change.”

“I take it we are referring to Dobb Lake?”

“Have you seen it recently, Sir? The place is bursting at the seams.”

“Well. That is what humans do, Bramwell. They procreate. Spread. Build all kinds of structures to accommodate their lifestyles. And their vices. I am not complaining. Far from it. Cities make it an easy matter to find sustenance. ”

“And a lot harder to stay hidden.”

“You need to learn to hide in plain sight, Bramwell. Blend in. Wear something that doesn’t make it look like you just left a western frontier territory sometime in circa 1880. But I digress. You can’t leave Dobbin Creek just yet.”

“There was a trespass last night. Murder.”

“You were discovered?”

“No. But I got the message. It’s a matter of time.”

“Lizbeth? Access the Abyss Link. Look up police inquiries in Dobb Lake, Nevada.”

A female voice spoke up. “Not the ghost town, Dobbin Creek?”

“Always start with the most obvious, Lizbeth and build from there. And use a point of least access. Insertion into data is traceable. I’d guess Dobbin Creek doesn’t have many searches. Any search on that location might get flagged. However Dobb Lake City incorporated the old ghost town earlier this century. Therefore, they should have an incident report. Police systems are notoriously easy to search, something about the Freedom of Information Act. I don’t know if you’ve met Lizbeth, Bramwell?”

“No.”

“She’s my new tech assistant. She’ll be at the desk while Nigel is on his honeymoon.”

“The kid?”

“Yes. That Nigel. He has been lucky enough to receive The Gift, and is blissfully on his honeymoon. I gave him a couple of months off.”

Bram grunted.

“Does that mean something?” Akron asked.

“Good for him,” Bram replied.

“Ah. This is interesting. I’m looking at a police report, Bramwell. They need to hire detectives with better writing skills. Apparently, the authorities received an anonymous complaint about Dobbin Creek. A shooting. Interesting. They did some investigating. Didn’t find anything of much interest. Right now they are filing the incident under breaking and entering.”

“That’s because they didn’t find a body.”

“I see. Well. You still need to return. Before dawn. You have two hours. Call when you get there.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The connection ended. Bram looked at the slim-phone for a moment before walking to one of the security fellows. He slid it into the guy’s breast pocket. That should give them something to ponder when they came out of thrall. He looked up. They were all big guys. This one stood a good six inches taller than Bram. Probably outweighed him by fifty pounds. Bram smirked and then pulled the fellow’s lapel handkerchief out. He walked to the elevator. Pressed the button. Waited what felt like minutes but was actually seconds before the elevator arrived. He tossed the handkerchief into the opening, reached around to press several floors, and stood back as the elevator doors shut.

And then he descended the stairwell. With one leap.

Cobwebs. Cobwebs. And more cobwebs.

Marielle waved her bandana to knock cobwebs aside as she poked her way along. Her headlamp illuminated a myriad of dust-covered strands. She’d heard cobwebs weren’t spider webs. It was difficult to make that distinction when facing large spans of them. She wasn’t fond of spiders, but she was less fond of dark, cramped, unused spaces that looked like nobody had used them since Prohibition. Maybe before that. These tunnels were also scary. More than once, she’d spun as a sound touched her ear. Whispers lifted the hair along the edge of her neck. Impressions of movement shifted the silence about her. It was weird down here. Dank. Deserted. And out of cell phone range according to her screen. The only good thing was the temperature. It wasn’t as cold as a Nevada night could be. And it wasn’t remotely hot. It was actually pretty mild. Temperature-wise.

What was she doing? Thinking?

Her old counselor would be writing tons of notes over this. She really needed to get a handle on her impulsive nature. Stop going with her gut instinct. Learn from her experiences. Use her talent for a change, rather than get used by it. She was going to be twenty-nine next month. Thirty was just around the bend. She was an adult. And what was she doing? Exploring a lot of cobweb-filled tunnels without one soul knowing where she was. Her headlamp dimmed slightly before resuming full power. That was ominous.

She’d rarely acted so stupidly.

No. She had to take that back. She had taken up with a musician in Albuquerque. They’d met at a bar. He’d been gorgeous. Played a really soulful guitar. She let him move into her place. They had some good times. Some not-so-good times. And then she caught him with three other women. Not just one. Three. All at once. In her bed. That had been a wake-up call and a half.

Marielle shook her head at the recollection. She’d sworn off men over that. Her vow had lasted almost a year. Then she’d hooked up with a stockbroker type, one with a gold brick where his heart should be. He had a lot of financial acuity and not one clue to what being in a relationship meant. He’d considered commitment a four letter word. That had been another fun lesson.

Okay. Maybe she needed to narrow down her stupidity level here. It might be true that she was a failure at love, but she rarely put herself in dangerous situations.

That was wrong, too.

There had been that nature experience trip one summer. She’d booked a single vacation package with fifteen other singles, all of whom seemed to know what they were doing. She’d drawn in her sketchbook each night after making camp. But then they’d hit rapids, she’d tipped the boat, losing the sketchbook, her supplies, a good portion of everyone’s gear, and an instant spot on the ‘avoid-at-all-costs’ list.

She’d paid for it, too. Still did, if she thought of it. Rocky Mountain Spotted Tick Fever didn’t just dissipate and go away. She’d been lethargic and in pain for weeks before the diagnosis. That little bug had doomed her to recurrent flare-ups for life. It was the reason she was pale and couldn’t gain much weight. And she’d actually been praised by the previous Missus Stimson over her slender shape.

The tunnel dropped a half-foot without warning. Marielle stumbled but caught the fall, disturbing even more cobwebs. She readjusted her lamp and checked the path. It looked even narrower ahead.
Wow
. Good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic. Four steps later another hint of something stopped her. If she had to peg the sound, it was a piano. She only heard three notes before it stopped, leaving an impression that slowly faded.

Marielle scanned the area. Turned around and checked behind her. The headlamp revealed all kinds of dark, cobweb-filled space. A lot of dirt. Some really old wooden posts. All kinds of rough-hewn planking lined the halls. Some were assembled into an ‘X’ shape at intervals, before they turned back into haphazard parallel lines. But that was it. Nothing else was in sight. Nothing physical...or astrophysical, either. Not a damn thing. Okay. She was hearing things now. And imagining worse. Her light flickered again. It dimmed to about half-power next. And it didn’t recover.
Oh...double wow
. This was at the top of stupid things she’d ever done.

Thus far, this all-consuming need to return to the Number Eight Saloon and explore was an utter disaster. All she’d found was an old tunnel, scooped from the earth and then held in place by a lot of rotting timbers. Labyrinthine. Lengthy. And deep. She’d gone down more than one incline since leaving the area beneath the bar. In hindsight, she should have stayed there. Despite how the stairs had lifted and closed with perfect precision behind her, at least she’d known where she was. There had to be a means of egress from this side, too. Somewhere.

Just because she’d given up after ten minutes of searching, that did not mean she was trapped down here. In complete darkness as soon as her batteries finished failing. Fated to wander a seemingly endless maze of corridors until starvation took over. Or maybe it would be asphyxiation that got her. Or both.

This was ridiculous.

She wasn’t that imaginative.

Next thing she’d be conjuring zombies.

The tunnel ended. Just like that. Without one hint of warning. The last of Marielle’s headlamp got her a vague view of dark space before reaching an earthen wall and more planking holding it in place. Her heart rate ticked up a notch, which was odd. There was nothing special about the spot that she could tell. And she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t a dead-end. It was a juncture with another branch of tunnel. The opening was narrow. And low. The timber supports that held back masses of bone-crushing earth barely cleared her head. She turned sideways and stepped through the opening. A hint of fresh air assailed her, chilling and yet enervating.

Well. The decision wasn’t hard. She couldn’t go to the right. Not far, anyway. There had been a cave-in at some point. She lifted her chin, sending the last of her light onto a mass of splintered wooden posts, all sizes of stones, and a pile of dirt that didn’t look like it was going anywhere soon. Marielle turned around. The left tunnel looked just as uninspiring.

And it looked familiar.

Marielle’s shoulders dropped slightly as she turned her head. The headlamp went even dimmer. She squinted, scanning the corridor she’d just left. Other than some cobweb-filled gaps, it didn’t look disturbed much. She looked back down the new tunnel facing her. It looked as if someone had recently passed through here too, brushing aside a century-plus of undisturbed webbing. It wasn’t her. She could have sworn she hadn’t gone this way before. She’d have noticed a caved-in passage.

Wouldn’t she?

Marielle took a deep breath and started inching forward, waving her bandana, and within moments, her fingers hit something solid. Sound, like the dull thump of wood echoed eerily through the enclosed space. She ran her hands along it and then stretched to both sides. Unbelievable. The tunnel wasn’t a corridor at all. It was an entrance. Protected by a door. Not an ordinary one, either. This door was painted to look like ancient cobwebs and a dark tunnel. Just as the trap door in the saloon floor was painted to look like it was dusty.

It should have been really frightening. It wasn’t. She was fascinated. And excited. And everything except scared. Her heart rate sped up as she ran her hands along the wood, feeling for a handle. The painter had been an artist. Truly gifted. The work was exquisite. And they’d done it for a door in an unused tunnel beneath a rotting old ghost town?

Her fingers snagged on a latch. Marielle started trembling. The piece was small. Cool to the touch. Smooth. Probably metallic. She didn’t bother checking farther. The latch didn’t matter. She put a finger beneath it and lifted. With a click, the door shifted a couple of inches inward, sucked that way by an influx of air. Her headlamp gave her another warning flicker. Marielle took a deep breath and held it. The air wasn’t dank or stale. Maybe there was an exit through this way. She exhaled. Breathed in again. And then she moved the door open just enough to peek.

Her headlamp was a ghost of its former self. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. A glance showed an old-time lamp hanging from a rafter. And as she watched, it sparked into life, as if triggered by the opening of the door. Moments later, golden light spread throughout the opening, illuminating dark-toned wooden walls and an assortment of odd things. Marielle pushed the door open enough to slide around it. The portal shut behind her with a hiss. She spun and frowned at it. That had been exceptionally stupid. She might need to make an entire new category for events like it for her future.

Somebody obviously lived down here. They’d taken great pains to keep that fact hidden. Shouldering the door did nothing. It had become part of the wall again. Now she was truly trapped. She should have been prepared. Didn’t she ever learn? She could have dropped something into the gap. Her backpack came to mind first, but even the now-dead headlamp would have worked.

She sighed, pulled the headlamp off, and turned back to the room.

Well. Whoever owned this place didn’t know much about home decorating. The floor was covered with a patchwork of what looked like blankets. Several times since she’d come west, she’d had the opportunity to handle intricately woven saddle blankets. Real ones. Crafted just as they had been for centuries by indigenous peoples. She’d even painted them into portraits. These looked to be premium grade. And they were being used as rugs?

Large wooden barrels were grouped on her left. An assortment of saddles, horse tack, and more blankets, were keeping the barrels company. There was a long row of guns beyond the barrels. They looked like rifles, mostly. Some shotguns. And there were some really nice museum-quality pistols on hooks above the gun rack. A large, substantially built table was in the middle of the room. On her right sat an exquisite Victorian-era settee. She’d played on one once. In an antique store. In the far corner was a piano. A large upright. Looked like a player piano. She could see the mechanism in an opening above the keyboard. And at the far end of the room was another doorway. Somewhere within, a light source flickered into life as she watched.

And that should have been spooky as hell.

Fright should be overtaking her. She had all the signs. Her breath stopped. Her eyes widened. Her belly tightened. She felt chilled all of a sudden. Shivers rippled along her skin. She should have rooted to the spot with fear. But that wasn’t what happened. That portal was like an oasis to a parched throat. Air to a drowning victim. Pollen to a honeybee. It was magnetic. It drew her. As if every move she’d made since finding the trap door led to this. There was no denying the pull she felt. She didn’t even try.

Marielle pulled the backpack off, added it to her headlamp, and dropped both atop the table as she passed. Leather-wrapped metal bindings thudded before her pack settled. She reached the door without conscious volition. Each breath was labored. Her heartbeat was so loud it drowned out ambient sounds. And then she was there. Looking into a span of wood floor...and not much else.

This room was almost empty. A strip of patterned carpet split the space. It led to a pedestal. The piece was situated almost like it was an altar that appeared to be made of marble. Fluted columns were carved into each corner. Substantial. Really heavy. But – she reminded herself – in this place, the pedestal might have been painted to look like marble. A long wooden box rested atop the stand. What could be the lid portion rested against one end, propped up like a surfboard stuck in sand. It had a distinctive shape. She’d seen it often. Hexagonal. Tapered at one end. Anthropoidal. Heck. They even made candy in this shape around Halloween. Marielle blinked. Eased each breath out only to suck in another. Tried to think around the sound of her increasing pulse. That box looked an awful lot like a coffin, and that could only mean—

Vampire!

There was no reason her mind should instantly scream the word. None whatsoever. But it was beyond cool. Marielle reminded herself that she didn’t believe in supernatural stuff. Time travel. Ghosts. Werewolves. Vampires were a joke. But none of that changed the view before her.

Marielle didn’t remember approaching, but somehow she was there. Looking into a dented mass of draped white satin. It was shaped into the form of a body. A fairly large body. And that was just beyond possible.

“You want to put your hands out where I can see ’em?”

At the words, Marielle’s hands instantly went out at her sides. Everything else froze. The voice was hard-toned. Deep. Masculine. And absolutely terrifying.

“Now turn around. Real...slow.”

And then she heard the sound of a gun being cocked.