Vintage Soul (9 page)

“It's not an easy charm, but for a certain amount of time, while a spirit lingers between worlds, their shape, identity, even personality can be stolen.
 
Did you know that?
 
Kline must have known it, but for some reason, he didn't check.
 
I admit that he disappointed me.
 
It was arrogant of him to attempt the security for your party by himself, and even more foolish to assume that your guests were beyond reproach.
 
I wonder if Margot has found the remains, or if she's had the courage to tell Johndrow about it.
 
Do you think he'll kill her?”

The man raised a long, slender eyebrow and glanced at Vanessa with what appeared to be real interest.
 
The conversational tone of his voice chilled her more than his words.
 
He was supremely confident, and if remorse was part of his makeup, he had hidden it well.

“He will kill you,” she said softly.
 
“The elders will not stand for this.
 
You may have gotten past Kline, and you may have sent one of the young ones to his final death, but you will not find
Preston
so simple to brush aside.”

The man actually laughed at this.
 
His voice tinkled like broken glass; it was empty of mirth and dripped contempt.

“Do you really think so?” he asked.
 
The sarcasm in his tone sounded brittle, like his laughter.
 
Vanessa didn't want to know what would show through if it shattered.

The man glanced over his shoulder, and then scanned the room, feigning nervous fright.
 
“Do you think they're onto me yet?
 
I'd better go and check my security.
 
Maybe…” He hesitated, dropped his charade, and fixed her with an icy stare, “I should call Kline's people.”

Vanessa held herself in check.
 
Anger nearly drove thought from her mind, but he was still out of reach.
 
Then, as if reading her mind, or answering her silent request, he stepped forward.

“Who are you?” she asked.
 
Her voice was low, and she fought to keep the anger out of her tone.

“That's not really important,” he said. “You won't be around to learn what it means, I'm afraid.
 
I have plans for you, my dear, and I'm afraid they don't include further longevity, at least not for yourself.”

He had taken three slow steps toward her as he spoke.
 
His movements were slow and languid.
 
Vanessa didn't know if he was stupid, or if his arrogance was justified, but she knew that she would have to find out.
 
He might not give her a second chance.
 
Cocking her head seductively, she put one hand on her hip and leaned on it just enough that her gown slit to show the full length of one slender leg.

“Are you sure there isn't some other arrangement we could come to?” she asked.
 
She tried to give her voice a coy lilt, but was afraid it came out too high pitched and a little shrill.

The man smiled and took another step toward her.
 
“Interesting,” he said.
 
“I suppose you have something in mind?”

Vanessa coiled and sprang with all the preternatural speed and strength the centuries had granted her.
 
The chain trailed behind her like the tail of a kite, and though heavy, it did not appear to slow her attack.
 
The man backpedaled and nearly lost his balance.
 
Vanessa flew headlong, hands extended like talons.
 
She gripped the edge of his robe, just as she hit the end of the chain and it drew her up short with a horrible snap of bone.
 
Her right wrist shattered, but she clung to him with her left.
 
Crying out in rage she dragged that robe toward her, but he was seconds too quick.
 
With a gasp, he spoke, and the word hovered between them.

A clattering sound filled the room, and Vanessa was jerked backward.
 
Her captor's robe tore, and she held that bit of cloth in her hand, but the chains retracted into the wall, slowly and relentlessly.
 
Vanessa gritted her teeth against the pain and drove forward, fighting her bonds.
 
It was no use.
 
She slid back, step after inexorable step and the man, back on his feet and with his composure regained, followed her.
 
He kept just out of reach and smirked as she snarled and scratched the air, trying to reach him.

Within moments the chains had drawn tight.
 
Vanessa was pinned flat against the wall, her wrists out to her sides and her ankles immobile, slightly spread.
 
She fought, but she could barely twist her wrists in the charmed manacles, and the one was only partially healed.
 
It would be hours before it mended properly.
 
The force drawing the chains back into the wall was impossibly strong.
 
The man had continued his slow, deliberate pursuit, and now that she was held helplessly to the stone, he stepped closer still.
 
He was careful to keep his throat out of the possible range of her fangs, but he pressed his leg between hers and rested his chest against the material of her gown so her nipples brushed the rough fabric of his jacket.

“Very good,” he said.
 
“You are faster than I expected, much faster – and stronger.
 
I have done even better than I'd hoped.”

Vanessa didn't reply.
 
She continued to struggle.
 
She tried desperately to pull away from him and at the same time ground the already tortured bones of her wrists and ankles against her bonds.
 
She gritted her teeth against it the pain, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing how great it was.
 

“You can smell it, can't you?” he asked, turning his head to the side so that the pulsing vein in his neck was in clear view.
 
“I know you can – probably smelled me the moment I entered the room, didn't you?”

He pressed closer, and Vanessa began to panic.
 
His voice droned on, but she only caught the words between the thunderous, crashing beats of his heart.
 
She'd been this close to many throats, fed many times, though not to the death – not in three hundred years.
 
This was like nothing she'd ever experienced.
 
His pulse blanked thought, and the heady, powerful scent of his blood – the taste of it, even through his skin, maddened her.

Her gums retracted to show long, pearl-white fangs.
 
Her jaws worked convulsively, trying to latch on and drive those fangs home and drain that sweet, hot blood.
 
She felt him brush a hand through her hair and lunged, like a wild beast, toward his wrist, but he was far too quick now, and her mind had dropped into a slow-motion world of fuzzy vision and humming sound.
 
He stroked the other side of her throat, and she lunged that way, lashing her hair back and forth across his face.
  
Each time she tried to clamp onto him, he evaded her, and throughout it all, he caressed her cheeks, her throat, and her hair.
 
His voice never ceased, and she realized vaguely that he was chanting.

Then something slipped between her lips.
 
She tried to turn from it, but it was too late.
 
Blood spurted in over her tongue, washed down her throat, and she latched onto the metal tube like a baby suckling its mother.
 
She couldn't stop herself.
 
It was his blood, she knew the scent, the taste, and it was as sweet as she'd imagined, though cold – so cold.

“That's right,” she heard him say.
 
“Take it all.”

She did.
 
He pulled back from her with a satisfied smirk on his face and surveyed his work.
 
Vanessa hung limply from the chains.
 
Her bones had knit themselves and healed, her complexion had grown rosier.
 
Her strength returned, but along with it a strange, inexplicable lethargy.

Her captor waited a few moments longer, then stepped forward again.
 
She watched him, but did not try to reach him.
 
Her thoughts were shifting very slowly, and she couldn't quite remember why she'd wanted to escape, or who he was.
 
He stepped close again, pulled something from his pocket, and slipped it around her neck.

Glancing down, she saw he had hung a circular gold pendant on a chain around her neck.
 
He held the ends of the chain together behind her and whispered two words she didn't understand.
 
When he stepped back, the chain was joined in back.
 
The chains on the wall grew slack.

Vanessa allowed him to lead her to the cot by the wall and sat beside him.
 
The chains trailed behind her and hung limply down over the edge of the cot.
 
She knew she should be doing something, but could not bring it into focus.
 
Her eyelids had begun to flutter, and she was very tired.

“I couldn't have you attacking me every few minutes, you know,” he said conversationally.
 
“You really are far too fast to be trusted.
 
I think things will go more smoothly now, don't you?”

Vanessa nodded her head, though she had no idea what things he meant.
 
She hoped he'd leave her so she could lie back on the cot and rest.
 
She thought the sun must have risen outside and sapped her strength.
 
If the building had proper shielding, this wouldn't happen.
 
She tried to tell him, but he shook his head.

“It's fine.
 
You get some rest, and I'll be back to see you with more blood.
 
We have to keep you healthy, don't we?”

She nodded.

He reached out and traced her throat with a long fingernail, lifted her chin, studied her face, and then stroked her skin gently.
 
“Before long,” he told her, “I'll be taking my blood back, you see.
 
All of it, and more.
 
I'll be taking all of that wonderful, powerful blood of yours, and that exquisite immortality, and I'll be keeping it for my own.
 
I'm afraid I can't share, and it's a pity, but you understand, don't you?”
She nodded, though she really didn't understand at all.
 
He couldn't have said what she thought he did, how was that possible?
 
She was the one who took blood – she didn't give it back.
 
What a funny thought.
  

The man stood and laid her back on the cot, and Vanessa closed her eyes at once.
 
On her chest, the gold medallion glowed with a dim golden light.
 
He watched for a moment, nodded, and tucked the small bottle with its metal tube spout back into a fold of his robe.

“How fitting,” he said, brushing his fingers a final time through her hair.
 
“They sell these for the feeding of pets, you see.”

Without a backward glance, he left the tower room and the heavy stone door closed behind him.
 
On the cot Vanessa lay very still.
 
Her eyes were closed, and other than an occasional twitch at the corner of her mouth, nothing disturbed the crypt-still air, or the total, lifeless silence.

~ * ~

Miles away, seated in his living room staring at the smooth obsidian shield on his window, Johndrow jerked so hard he nearly dropped the wine glass in his hand.
 
He lurched, caught himself, and managed to place the goblet on the table beside him.

“What is it?” The younger man across the table from him shot to his feet.
 
He was dark, swarthy and thin.
 
He appeared to be no more than about seventeen years old, though he'd walked the streets of this same city for more than a hundred and fifty years.

He stood beside Johndrow, who recovered quickly, and watched as his elder sat up straight, eyes blazing.
 
Then he felt it too, and his eyes widened.

“He has fed her something,” Johndrow said.
 
“I don't know what it was, but it was powerful.
 
I can almost taste it.
 
I…”

He fell silent, and the younger man cursed.

“This is too much,” he said.
 
“First he steals Vanessa from your home, now he invades our minds, using hers.
 
We can't just sit around and wait, hoping this DeChance will find him.
 
We have to act ourselves, and quickly.”

“I told him he would have forty eight hours,” Johndrow said, reaching for his glass.
 
He steadied himself, then took a long gulp of the wine, and then put the goblet down again.
 
“You must be patient, Vein, we all must be.
 
Donovan is not just any man, and this job is beyond our knowledge.
 
I'll ask you what he asked me; what would you do if you found this thief?
 
If he can control Vanessa, drag her out of here like a toy, and controls her still – what chance would you have?”