The Council of Shadows (42 page)

“Oh, God, yeah, that party and the fight and everything!” she said. “And it was so much fun up until then before it all got spoiled, all the new people and the celebrations. I was working up at the
casa grande
for the party, Theresa the manager tapped me, and it was a complete blast. Lucky I was in the infirmary and tranked out of my mind when the bad stuff came down, so I only heard about it later. Couple of people nearly got
killed
, and there was that horrible thing with
Doña
Adrienne.”

“You were sick?” he asked. “How'd that happen?”

She sat down to talk; business was slow, and this was a small town, only a few thousand people and no tourist trade.

“Oh, not sick, just banged up and low on blood. They had a lot of extra staff in to help with the guests, you know, Theresa had the sheriff go around and pick us out at school. Mainly I was sort of a temporary lucy, you know, 'cause I'm pretty, which
sure
beat cleaning the rooms or the kitchen. Even if it was more twenty-four/seven.”

“You certainly are pretty enough for anyone, even the Masters,” he said gallantly.

“Thanks.” Another giggle. “There were two of the Tōkairin Shadowspawn tag-teaming me, some sort of security guys from things they said. . .. God, I was sore all over for a week, I didn't know there were that many ways
to
get screwed! They had those funny tattoos all over, too, and I mean
all
over.”

“Ah . . . not too scary, I hope.”

“No. Well, yes, but usually hot-scary, not just plain scary. I knew they probably wouldn't really kill or cripple me, you know how it is with us, and they had the refreshments the Brézés brought in for that. I saw them go at a couple of those meat sacks and it reeeeeally got gross, I nearly barfed. But they're just meat sacks, after all.”

“Nothing too bad, eh?”

“Not once I got into it. It just got sort of blurry for me when they were turning into animals and stuff and fucking with my head with the Power, so I can't be sure what they actually did to me after that, except I'm not pregnant, of course, and all the bite marks and bruises and stuff healed up. I mean, I
thought
they'd bitten parts of me off and eaten them while I watched, but obviously they didn't. Wild!”

“They wouldn't want to insult the Brézés by killing a renfield without permission,” Salvador observed.

“Right. And I got bled enough to get a bit of the addiction, which made coming down a complete bummer, like a mixed-drink hangover for days, even with the transfusions. But fun while it lasted, I was really starting to enjoy them feeding on me, it's better than grass any day after the first couple of times. My sister Jill was too young, and boy, did she get sniffy and whine about missing the party. You know how sixteenyear-olds are about acting like adults.”

“I've got a couple of younger brothers and sisters too,” Salvador said sympathetically.

“Yeah.” A malicious smile came over the perky face, a moment's leer. “Then her initiation came up a couple of months later, and with
Doña
Adrienne gone and
Don
Jules and
Doña
Julia back here they handled it, really old-school.”

“Old-school?”

“Yeah, at mine
Doña
Adrienne just bit me on the neck and gave me a kiss; the bite didn't even sting much, and that was it, ‘Here's a Band-Aid for the hickey, here's your funky black robe, here's your pendant, worship the Shadowspawn faithfully and you'll be one of the masters over the cattle, the meat sacks, yada, yada; now go back to studying for the SATs like a good girl.' But Jilly, they went at her the way my mom says they did with
her
and my dad back forever ago. It was sort of fun to watch her wiggling and hear her yell. First
Don
Jules stuck his—”

Salvador didn't consider himself a particularly squeamish man; he hadn't been as a marine, and years as a cop gave you a plumber's-helper view from society's toilet bowl. He still blinked a little at the blow-byblow description of what had happened to this Jilly on an altar in front of a crowd of family and neighbors chanting the equivalent of
amen
while swaying back and forth, holding candles and clad in black robes.

“So she howled herself hoarse and got all weepy about it afterwards for a couple of weeks, even when we told her to shut up about it, which tells you how well she'd have done up at the
casa grande
, and Dr. Duggan had to trank her for a while, which was a relief, 'cause my room's right next to hers and she kept waking me up with the nightmares. But she's been a lot less of an annoying little snot since she stopped that, which means she's growing up, I suppose.”

“Glad to hear it,” Eric said. “
Don
Jules and
Doña
Julia are here now? I should send a message up to the
casa grande
if they are. The word is that Tōkairin renfields should show complete respect now, not just be polite.”

“Oh, no, they cleared out a couple of days ago, with all their baggage and lucies and servants, for a long trip. Even Monica's gone—my mom plays tennis with her, and she was complaining about how it was going to disrupt the tournament schedule. Some sort of big Shadowspawn do, somewhere
way
far away. Isn't it exciting?”

“It's important, I hear.”

Tiffany leaned closer, her eyes glittering. “Totally! I hear”—she dropped her voice—“that they're going to come out in the open somehow, the Shadowspawn are, that is. Real soon! On TV and everything, you know, the president kneeling and them chopping off his head and raping his daughter or whatever. But that last part may just be someone blowing smoke. Though it would be funny.”

“Right, I'd heard the rumors. Big changes, sure enough.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her silky hair bobbing around her shoulders.

“They'll be gods again then, with temples and sacrifices. And we from the faithful families will all be lords over the meat sacks, like it was always promised. No more of these crap waiting-table jobs for summer money 'cause they need to keep everything hidden!”

“Yeah, I understand there will be leadership positions going begging.”

“High priests and secret police and CEOs! We'll all have like big houses and sports cars and. . . and stuff . . . and absolutely hordes of slaves and we can do anything we want with the meat sacks.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Totally toga party! I'd like to kill a couple, just to see if it's as big a spiff in the quiff as everyone says it is, and have them grovel and beg and cry and everything. I mean, I could see the Shadowspawn really got off on that when
I
was doing it. And we won't have to stay in town all the time or watch what we say in front of meat sacks, and I can go to concerts and raves and all that like the people on TV and the Web. Or maybe spring break in Puerto Vallarta.”

“It's certainly got the Masters completely focused,” Salvador said. “Hardly any of them left in the bay area. Usually there are a couple of dozen, at least.”

Tiffany nodded. “There aren't any Masters left in town here at all, well, there are
Doña
Adrienne's kids, I suppose. I've seen them a couple of times. Just kids, if you don't know better. Sometimes the servants bring them down into town, or they have playdates and things.”

Bingo, third confirmation and that's the charm,
he thought, disguising a hunter's satisfaction with a bite of muffin.
Definitely out of town, kids still definitely here. Plenty of nannies and such, I should think, and the security detail, but the living . . . well, active . . . monsters gone.

“Didn't your
Doña
Adrienne have another lucy? I think I heard someone mention that.”

“Oh, Jose. No, he's retired . . . well, you know, retired from being a lucy. Out of town now, his aunt's got this business he helps with. The Villegas are sort of stuck up 'cause they've been here forever, but he's nice.”

A sigh from the girl, as she propped her chin on a fist. “I'd like to travel. What's San Francisco like? There's this great place for clothes my mom got to go to once and she's still talking about it.”

It struck Eric suddenly that quite possibly this Tiffany Meachum had never been more than a few miles from the town where she'd been born.

Man, I'm never going to read
'Salem's Lot
again,
he thought as he did riffs on the backstory of his supposed identity; the Brotherhood had a good system for producing them and he'd studied hard.
Isolated small towns with horrible secrets just aren't going to be any fun even to imagine. I wonder what's in the cellars and attics here?

“So,” she said a little later. “I get off at six. My place or yours?”

Salvador choked slightly. “Ah. . .”

“Well, you
do
want to fuck me, don't you?”

He answered with a wordless grunt, and she gave him a winning smile.

“I can probably get Jilly in on it too if you'd like that. Bet you've never had sisters at the same time! Rough stuff's fine, either way, I like pitching and catching. Your hotel might be better, 'cause my folks are, like, ancient and yell and pound on the door if I get too loud, and I really like to do that. Or you could gag me.”

“Ah, sorry. Can't.”

For a moment he felt a horrible temptation; it had been a long time since his dates had included anyone but Ms. Rosy Palm. Then he mentally recoiled at his mind's prompting vision of what he'd feel like afterwards.

“Oh, don't be all unfun!” she said, sensing his recoil. “I could get Don, my boyfriend, too,” she added, with a considering glance. “If that's your thing.”

“No offense, but I'm really busy. Another time.”

“Oh, well, it was fun talking, Miguel. Have a nice day. Hail to the, ah, the Black Eternal Dawn . . . Eternal Black Dawn, and, uh, and whatever!”

“Jesus,” he whispered softly to himself.

 

 

Lucy Lane was extremely quiet, a curving row of neo-Spanish houses deeply embowered in big trees, with lovely gardens out front and even better behind, from the glimpses he got. The narrow street made it almost drenched in sweet, heavy flower scent; the roundabout at the end gave onto the hills behind the town, and to the left was the high stuccoand-tile wall around the
casa grande
. Its roofs showed over the top, and the tips of trees. The brooding presence was never really gone anywhere in town, but here it was overwhelming.

Right,
peones
down here,
hacendados
up there. Ms. Cortines must feel right at home, not. I was right about this place being un-American, unless you count maybe Alabama.

From what he'd heard—the briefings had been brief, limited to the essentials—the Brézés had been aristos back in the old country, as well as satanists and magicians using powers they didn't understand until the nineteenth century. The sort who, back when, had hunted peasants for sport with horses and dogs, before what Adrian had called
Madame la Guillotine
taught them a few limits. Only, the Brézés hadn't wanted any limits. They'd apparently brought their conception of how things should be organized along when they came here, as well. This wasn't exactly a castle on a crag somewhere in the Auvergne with a village huddled at its feet, but it wasn't exactly not like that either.

Right,
Salvador said to himself.
According to Ellen, the one called Jabar got killed before she left, Peter Boase escaped, Monica's not here, and it doesn't look like there's anyone home anywhere but Cheba. Good news about this Jose guy being off the lane, that'll simplify things.

He felt hideously conspicuous, even though it was getting dark; California weather could make you forget what season it was, but the sun went down at the right time, anyway. The streetlights were picturesque, frosted globes on wrought-iron stands, but not the most efficient outdoor lighting he'd ever seen. Of course, the people who controlled the process could see in the dark anyway.

He didn't like to think what would happen if the local cops caught him loitering with intent on the street that was, essentially, the local Brézé drive-by buffet. He'd also been warned that his cover story wouldn't hold up if someone actually contacted the Tōkairin for a background check. Not even normal Shadowspawn sloppiness got
that
bad, and even a large clan didn't have so many close servants that they had to rely entirely on computerized lists.

The outside light came on at number five, and four people came out.

His professional instincts stuttered a little when she hit his eye. She was about seventeen, and
not
your typical girl from a little
ejido
village. For one thing she looked to have a strong dash of African in there with the predominant
india
and some Spaniard, to judge from the cinnamon-coffee color of her skin and the way her blue-black hair was loosely curled, as well as her full lips. Slim, straight figure, but a high, full bust—also not typical, peasant girls tended to stocky builds and breasts at best of the perky persuasion.