The Fertile Vampire (34 page)

The room smelled of age, leather bound books, and the scent of pressed pages. The odor of dried eucalyptus was prominent in one side of the room which made me wonder if there had once been a flower arrangement there.
 

A study was separate from the library. I gave it a cursory glance, enough to see leather chairs and a sofa, dark paneling and a massive desk between two windows. A man cave of the office kind and evidently Dan’s.
 

The castle had surprised me. The Great Hall made my eyes widen.
 

The room was cavernous, wide enough I couldn’t have tossed a ball across it. The vaulted ceilings were inset with tin panels, each inscribed with a flowered pattern. The walls, painted a color reminding me of vanilla ice cream, were adorned by flags and pennants in black and red.
 

Two fireplaces, each big enough to contain an NBA team, sat on facing walls. From the soot stains at the back, I knew they’d been used. To be on the safe side, however, the millionaire Chicken King had heating and air conditioning ducts installed and partially hidden behind several of the pennants.
 

Ten suits of armor of polished silver metal and matte black were arrayed on the edges of the room, each of them a silent sentinel to my exploration.
 

The chairs arranged throughout the room were all the same, throne-like, with wide seats and arms leading to high backs. The couches were more modern as were the lamps on the various tables.

I had the impression Arthur Peterson had been in favor of replicating the middle ages to a degree. When it interfered with his comfort, he was more than willing to sacrifice realism.
 

I felt the witches when I started walking toward the kitchen.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-E
IGHT

Boil, bubble, bring me trouble

Stopping in the middle of a wide corridor lined with portraits, I called out to Mike.
 

“Is there anyone else in the house besides us?”
 

I hadn’t seen him for a while, but I wasn’t surprised to hear his voice coming from a speaker mounted somewhere on the wall.
 

“There’s the staff.”
 

I hadn’t seen anyone else.
 

“How many people?”
 

He didn’t answer. Had I asked a question violating security?
 

Would Dan know if he employed witches? I doubted it. Nor was I about to ask Mike that question.
 

I changed direction, heading up the broad stairs to the suite I’d been given.
 

Once inside I walked to one of the windows, staring out at the lake in the early evening light. The sun was glowing bright on the horizon, a warning my freedom was near an end. Soon it would be night and I would be in danger again.
 

Placing my fingers on the glass resulted in a nasty shock. For a second I thought the windows were electrified but then I realized it was something more.
 

The witches had put up a wall around me like they had at my grandmother’s house. There they’d wanted to keep me out. Here I suspected they wanted to keep me in.
 

Had they been in my townhouse watching me?
 

Turning slowly, I surveyed the room. I was alone but I didn’t feel alone.
 

Did witches have a spell of invisibility?
 

The tingling was worse. My fingertips were growing numb.
 

I moved to the center of the room wishing I knew more about witches. I didn’t know anything. But I had one thing they didn’t have: me.
 

I could communicate with some people. So far, that included vampires, the living, and my grandmother the witch.
 

I could walk in the sun.
 

What else could I do?
 

I closed my eyes, stretched out my arms, slowly turning until the tingling in my fingers got worse. Wow, I was a living antenna.
 

The buzzing started at my temples, boring into my brain.
 

No, I was not going to be witchified again.
 

I slowly brought my palms together in something I’d seen on TV, a namaste position. I pressed my lips against the tips of my fingers, envisioning a calm, green river, weeping willows draping over the water.
 

Be gone.
 

A thought I kept at the forefront of my mind, separate from emotion. I saw the river, could feel myself buoyant, riding the current in a raft of my mind. The sun played on my eyelids, dancing through the branches of the willows. My fingertips splashed through the sparkling water. I felt droplets on the back of my hand.
 

A melody played from my past, a song of life and love. One of the zydeco musicians on the shore waved to me. An accordion, gilded in diamonds and gold, sparkled in the bright sun.
 

Be gone.
 

The musicians vanished but the breeze remained. I rode the raft to a sloping bank, tucked my bare feet into the sand and stood, making my way to the top of the hill. The sound of birds dominated, their trilling call easing my mood still further. The dredges of my anger faded away. Any grains of fear disintegrated.
 

I was Dirugu.
 

The picture in my mind abruptly shifted, darkness shattering my calm. Fear washed over me until I was drowning in it. The river became an ocean and I was adrift on it, my body tossed by malicious, sentient waves.
 

Help me.
A plea to my earthly God, the God of my childhood, the God I’d sworn to on the day of my trial.
 

Do you believe yourself to be a child of God?
 

Yes.
 

Was I now?
 

What was I?
 

I am Dirugu.
 

Okay, Dirugu, whatever the hell you are, you'd better help me get my act together, because I don’t like being afraid. I’m tired of being afraid. I’m tired of feeling out of my element, my league, a fish out of water, a square peg in a round hole. I’d created my life to fit me, carefully trimming the corners so no one would see I was slightly odd. Now all this nonsense was ruining my efforts.
 

Help me!
Get rid of the witches, give me a place of refuge, keep me safe.
 

I stood in silence, conscious of the simple quiet of the room. The only sound was the whisper of the wind as it tiptoed past the window. I didn’t know how long I’d stood there, the prayer deep in my mind.
 

The tingling was gone but something had taken its place. Something deep and dark and a little frightening. I was myself but I was me times two, empowered and determined.
 

I opened my eyes and walked to the window. Night had come to the South Texas countryside.

As I pulled out the cell phone Dan had given me, I realized something I’d never consciously thought about until this moment: there was good and evil in the world.
 

Sometimes you had to choose your side.

I dug out my phone and dialed Kenisha. When she answered, I didn’t identify myself, just started speaking.
 

“I once asked you if you were more cop than vampire. I’m going to give you a chance to be a cop. I know who killed Opie.”
 

At her answer, I told her where to meet me and hung up.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-N
INE

Are you a vampire or a mouse?

Getting out of Dan’s house was a lot harder than getting in.
 

Mike refused to let me go. He stood in front of the entrance to the parking tunnel and frowned at me, arms folded like Mr. Clean of the bodyguard set.
 

“I have to leave. I’m meeting a cop. I’ll be safe as a baby.”
 

“I can’t let you leave.”
 

“You don’t have a choice.”
 

“I promised Dan.”
 

I knew about promises. I tried to keep mine and I promised Dan I’d listen to Mike. I didn’t promise, however, not to use any sneaky methods.
 

Let me go. It’s okay if I leave. Dan will understand.
 

He blinked at me but didn’t move.
 

I tried again.
Let me go. Stand aside.

Mike the Rock didn’t budge a muscle.
 

Okay, add him to the list of people who didn’t hear me mentally.
 

I turned on my heel and left, returning to my suite. I had to leave but I wasn’t going to rappel down another wall.
 

Although Mike said there was staff employed at Arthur’s Folly, I hadn’t seen anyone other than him in the time I’d been here. Maybe they had a way of tending to the house without being seen. If Arthur Peterson had truly been the eccentric he was rumored to be with such a fondness for the past he might have done what the rich did in the nineteenth century. He might have built servants’ stairs and passages into the house.
 

I picked up one of the phones in the sitting room, dialed 0 and spoke to a woman with a thick Texas accent.
 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, trotting out my Sunday School manners. “Do you have any aspirin? Or something for a headache?”
 

“There should be a selection of over the counter medications in your bathroom, Miss Montgomery.”
 

Well, hell, they thought of everything, didn’t they?
 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see any,” I said, which was more or less the truth. I hadn’t looked, either.

She promised to send someone to my room with something. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be Mike.
 

A few minutes later a pleasant looking middle aged woman dressed in dark blue pants and a white blouse with blue tie appeared at the door. I wondered if she was wearing the Arthur’s Folly official uniform.
 

I thanked her and took the tray, but instead of closing the door when she left I stood and watched her. As I suspected she pressed her hand against a wood rosette on the chair rail in the hall. The door swung inward and she stepped into the well-lit corridor.

Five minutes later I followed her, my keys tucked into the pocket of my jeans. At least I’d had the sense to bring my own car. I wouldn’t have to “borrow” one of Dan’s.
 

The tunnel was wide, well-lit, and smelling of Italian food which meant it connected to the kitchen. I heard the sound of laughter and voices raised in conversation and slid to the side of the tunnel.
 

When it branched to the left, I took it, descending a flight of steps. To my surprise the last door I chose - the third of three - opened up to the central foyer, not far from the grand staircase.
 

Relieved no one was standing there pointing an accusing finger at me, I slipped through the foyer, glancing behind me as I did. Mike was nowhere in sight. Maybe everyone thought I was nursing a headache. Not far from the truth. Now, however, was not the time to give in to either pain or fatigue.
 

Arthur’s Folly was so large by the time I made it around the castle, I felt as if I’d walked a marathon, one requiring that I duck beneath windows and behind bushes when I thought someone was coming. In the dark I tripped over several sprinkler heads and more than a few holes in the ground. Either snakes or gophers occupied Travis land.
 

The side door to the garage wasn’t locked, but when I opened it, the door screeched loudly. I hesitated, waiting. No one came out of the shadows to accuse me of trespassing.