The Vampire's Seduction (34 page)

I couldn’t let him get what he wanted this time. It would mean the ending of everything I lived for, and the annihilation of my allies and friends, the creatures who inhabited my world, who knew me and trusted me—several of whom would be arriving in town to attend Alger’s (now Olivia’s) coming-out party. And, of course, it would also mean the entire mortal human population being translated into a vampire feed lot, women and children first. I gave up the effort to move the rock on my chest or break my bonds, deciding to save my strength. I’d need it even more desperately before Reedrek was through.

“I shut the whole operation down,” I said, telling the temporary truth. “You killed Alger and I—”

“No!” He shoved a pile of bones farther against the wall and sat on the slab nearest my head. He leaned down close enough to hiss his awful breath in my face. “Don’t even
try
to play me for a fool again. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave you be.”

He was lying. We both knew it.

A louder moan issued from Werm, our monster in the making, punctuated the horror of my sire and his empty promises. Then a plea: “Heeeelp meeee.”

I could relate.

“Why would I believe you’d ever let me be?”

“Because it is what you wish for. Your entire life has been spent wishing for something other than what you are offered. I gave you immortality along with my blood and you only whine instead of taking your rightful place as a ruler of this mortal world. For two hundred years I showed you the haunts and pleasures of Europe and you wished for this new backward land of upstarts. I offered you a world full of willing women and you wished only for your mortal wife. Truly you are a sad case.

“Now, either speak up or suffer. How many have you helped? Where are they?” Reedrek persisted.

I composed myself as best I could, ready for pain, death, or both, and remained silent. He was right about my wishing. The only part he’d missed in my history was the wish to die. He had not freed me. He’d held me close to him for more than two hundred years until he’d had to let me go. Yet even putting an ocean between us had not freed me from the bonds of his blood. If I forced him to kill me I could take my secrets to oblivion, the only safe haven.

“I bet our young Master Jack could tell me everything,” he said, like a snake striking close to my heart with his intent.

I forced myself to smile. “I kept him out of it. You can torture Jack all you like, he doesn’t know anything.”

Reedrek mimicked my smile, showing shreds of my flesh still caught in his teeth. “Who said anything about torture? I plan to offer Jack his own keys to the kingdom, if you will. He’ll take your place and become the right arm of the most powerful master on the planet—me.”

“Jack doesn’t like you.”

“Perhaps not. But he’ll like what I can teach him.”

Jack would
love
what Reedrek could teach him—most of it, anyway. Jack’s softness for humanity would hold him back from the darker lessons of killing and torture, but Reedrek would overcome his humanness in time. My sire was not just the rotten apple in the barrel; he was the determined worm of utter destruction.

“What about your old rogue cronies on the Continent? Have they put you in charge of world domination, then? Did the majority vote to make you king of the planet?”

“Vote?” He looked disgusted. “You’ve been poisoned by this New World democracy crock of shit. Life and death are ruled by the strongest—not by some pap saying that everyone matters.”

“There’ll be hell to pay when they find out what you’re doing.”

“Maybe, but you have hell to pay before my turn arrives. Now, about Jack—”

“You won’t have him. I’ll kill him myself first.”

Werm screamed as though he’d just discovered death and pain on a personal basis, then he fainted.

Reedrek laughed out loud. The show obviously amused him. “Now that’s something I would like to witness—you, Mr. Wishful Thinking, killing your one and only offspring.” He sighed. “I just don’t believe you have the balls for it. Too bad you won’t have the chance to prove yourself one way or the other. I would enjoy seeing you go against all your wishes—against your own blood. No matter, Jack is already half mine and the rest of him should belong to Olivia by now.”

“He’s smarter than you give him credit for,” I said, more for my benefit than his. Now that Werm was once more awake, his screams were coming in closer succession, making it hard to hold a normal conversation. As if anything about this conversation was normal.

“No matter,” Reedrek said finally. “Olivia knows how to handle him. I think it’s time to call her back to me. She and Jack. But first . . .”

He left my line of sight and I heard him scrabbling with the lantern. The oily smell of kerosene wafted around me. I could feel him splashing it on my pant legs and feet. Then he lit a torch.

“While we’re waiting, how about a little pain?”

Jack

I stared at the portrait of William. He looked only slightly older than I do, but by the time that portrait was painted he had already lived a hundred years. He was dressed up in some kind of uniform with a high collar and brass buttons, probably fresh from feeding off dying men on a foreign battlefield, the old war dog. Why me? I wondered, not for the first time. Why did he pass up all those other poor gutshot bastards on that and other battlefields and, a lifetime or two later, make me into a creature like himself? Did he give others the choice he’d given me? Did they all turn him down? Was I the only one who wanted to survive badly enough to sacrifice his very soul?

Or maybe he looked into my dying eyes and saw something different from the others. Maybe he saw something he knew he could control.

“So where is our host?” Iban said, raising his glass toward the portrait of William. “On the telephone, Melaphia was evasive when I asked her.”

Olivia piped up, “He’s got some business. Something that he had to take care of personally.”

“Will he return later tonight? I’m looking forward to seeing him again, and I want to give him a tour of my new mobile home,” Tobey said.

“Mobile home?” Olivia jumped on the chance to change the subject.

Tobey aimed his high-voltage beach bum grin at Olivia.”Yeah. It should be here any minute now.”

Tobey didn’t look like trailer park material. I was wondering what kind of nonsense he was talking when I heard the sound of a big truck horn. Understanding sank in.
That
kind of trailer.

“That must be my rig,” Tobey said. “I gave my drivers a few days off to spend over in Tybee before we start back. Jack, Melaphia sent your friend Rennie over and I hired him to get it detailed for me. Want a tour?”

I nodded dumbly and followed him and the others through the front doors. An eighteen-wheel tractor-trailer rig was parked in the infield of the circular driveway since it was too tall to fit under the porte cochere. It was decorated all along its side with the Nightflash’s black, gold, and red logo and several sponsor logos in paint that practically glowed in the dark. Rennie jumped down from the cab and came toward us, grinning like a mule eating briars.

“I got it all fixed up for you, Nightflash,” Rennie said. “It’s as clean as a pin.” His black eyes, which always appeared magnified behind his thick glasses, looked particularly large and luminous. If I didn’t know better, I would say he was in love.

“Thanks, man, and call me Tobey.” The blond vampire pressed a wad of cash into Rennie’s palm as my sawed-off partner handed him the keys.

“Okay . . . Tobey,” Rennie said, a little breathlessly. “Hey . . .” He dragged his beat-up NASCAR cap from his greasy hair and whipped a Sharpie out of his shirt pocket. “Would you mind signing my cap? The guys will never believe this.”

“Sure,” Tobey the magnificent said. With a flick of his wrist he drew the stylized version of his logo, then scribbled his name.

“Thanks, man,” Rennie mumbled, holding the hat like it was heavy or something.

As Tobey, Iban, and Olivia walked toward the trailer, I leaned in close to Rennie’s ear. “You two wanna get a room there, Ren?”

“Aw, Jack, knock it off. How many Monday nights have you and me and the guys drunk beers and watched this guy race on cable and talked about how cool he was? I can’t help but be a little starstruck. Besides, you should see inside that damned thing. Go on with ya.”

I caught up with the others as Rennie walked toward the carriage house. I wondered if I should mention to him that hanging around William’s famous freakin’ fanged friends might be hazardous to his health. Look what happened to poor Huey. That’s when I saw my own wrecker, parked like a forgotten one-night stand on the far side of the drive. Even my truck had another life beyond me.

Tobey put a key into a device on the back of the trailer and hydraulic doors slowly swung open. Then a stairway unfolded itself from the floor of the trailer as smoothly as those automatic ragtops come up and over the top of fancy convertibles. This guy was all about competition. We walked up the stairs and into a living room furnished with denim-covered sofas and chairs and a huge coffee table strewn with newspapers and magazines, as well as a small video camera and a couple of laptop computers with wireless network cards sticking out of their card slots. It was a portable office to compete with William’s high-tech lair. A wide-screen HDTV sat against one wall and poster-size, framed racing photos covered the other. There were no windows, of course.

Tobey then showed us through the kitchen and dining room, drawing
oohs
and
aahs
from Olivia on account of all the gadgets and appliances, like an automatic wine cooler that had water swirling around the bottles to keep the temperature perfect for the fruit of the vine.

Then came the bedroom, decorated in the Nightflash colors, of course, with a king-size bed, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom. “Must be great for entertaining,” Olivia speculated, emphasizing that last word with a wink. Tobey grinned and shrugged.

If my skin had turned as green as I felt, they’d be callin’ me frog boy from now on. I wished somebody would gig me already, just stab me clean through the heart and be done with it. This guy was living the life of my dreams. Race cars and the supermodel-type babes who gave out the trophies at victory lane. Oh, yeah, somebody gig me now.

“Where’s your coffin?” I asked sourly.

If Tobey picked up on my mood, he didn’t let on. He nudged the far wall gently with the toe of his running shoe. “Hidden door,” he said.

“Of course,” I muttered.

“So you two rode out here from the West Coast in style,” Olivia said as Tobey led the way back to the living room and plopped into one of the easy chairs.

“Sit,” he suggested. “You bet. Me and Iban came out together. It takes a little longer this way, but with a couple of well-paid drivers you can trust, it’s a lot easier and more comfortable than trying to fly.”

“Or taking a train,” Iban said, seating himself on one end of the long couch. “The railroad system in this country is a—how do you say?—a jest.”

“A joke,” Tobey corrected, and Iban nodded his thanks.

“I do not wish to wait on a side track for two or three days before moving. Anytime there are strangers around, there’s too much potential for disaster to suit my taste.” He leaned back in his chair. “I intend to sell my private shipping car and buy one of Tobey’s
muy macho
trucks to take me to my locations.”

“Wait just a moment.” Olivia pointed to Iban, seating her leather-clad behind right next to him. “I just recognized you. Your last name is Cruz, isn’t it? You’re Iban Cruz, the film director!”

Iban smiled broadly, showing just a hint of fang. Guess he figured he could let his guard down since he was among regular folks. “Guilty as charged.”

“I’ve seen all your films! My favorite is
After Dark, My Darling.
I think I’ve seen it four times.”

Oh, great. A race car driver and a movie director. Wasn’t this just a fabulous freakin’ career day? Talk about your dream jobs. I plopped down into what turned out to be a recliner. My feet popped up in the air. It was the perfect metaphor for being cut off at the knees. Well, just,
damn.

“How do you manage to make movies when you can only go out at night?” I asked.

Iban started to answer, but in her excitement, Olivia cut him off. “He only films at night,” she said. “It’s his trademark. It’s the ultimate film noir, and it’s a brilliant cover. Perfectly brilliant.”

Iban just smiled and shrugged in a what-can-I-say? gesture.

Chandler’s head loomed right outside the still-open door of the semi-trailer. He was standing on the bottom step, so his face looked eerily disembodied. Kind of matched the way I felt. “Mr. Bouchard is here, Mr. McShane.”

“Say who?” I asked.

“He’s the scientist,” Olivia said.

“Great. Tell him to step on up,” I said. A scientist. I hoped he was really nerdy. Chandler disappeared and a tall, thin vampire in a navy sport coat, white shirt, and dress pants came up the stairs. He ran a hand through longish graying hair. He looked distracted but unfortunately not nerdy. His human age was older than that of the rest of us; my guess was he was made in his mid-forties. He didn’t seem to know which of us to speak to first.

I stood up and extended my hand. “I’m Jack McShane.”

“Ah,” he said, evidently recognizing my name. “William’s man.”

I felt myself flinch. He might as well have said, William’s
boy.
I shook it off and introduced the others.

“My name is Gerard Bouchard,” he said. “I am pleased to meet you.”

He didn’t look that pleased. All in all he looked like he’d rather be most anywhere else. I knew the feeling.

“So . . . what kind of scientist are you?” Olivia asked.

“I’m a geneticist. I study various aspects of vampirism.”

That was nice and vague. To hell with him, too, if he wanted to be secretive. For all I cared, he could take his test tubes and put them where the sun didn’t shine. I was starting to feel nervous and closed in. I’d never been in a room, or trailer, full of vampires before. For as long as I could remember, I’d longed for my own kind, but now that I was hanging with a bunch of vamps, they were collectively making me queasy. And substandard in the vampire pissing contest. I figured it was time to get down to brass tacks.