Chapter 14
David felt good. So good, in fact, that he didn't know just what the hell he was doing in a hospital, but so far, they hadn't shown any sign of letting him go.
And the cop on duty seemed to be a little bit of a wacko. He had hung something along the inner frame of the window, and though David tried not to think that New Orleans' finest might be really and totally nuts, he was pretty sure that it was garlic.
This guy's name was Santini. Officer Giovanni Santini. Aside from being crazy, he was a nice guy. But David wasn't at all sure why he needed an officer watching over him. It had something to do with the fact that the corpse had disappeared on his shift. He still couldn't remember much about it. He had a feeling, though, that there had been a woman. A really beautiful naked woman with great breasts.
"You okay, kid?" He almost started; Santini had been so quiet over in his chair, that he had thought the man was sleeping.
"Yeah. I just wish I could go home. "
"Soon enough," Santini said cheerfully, fingering the big cross he wore on a chain around his neck, twin to the one David had found himself wearing when he woke up the first time after the. . . incident.
"If you need anything, you just let me know. "
"I need to go home," he told Santini mournfully. "I need to sleep all night without a nurse waking me up to take my temperature. "
Santini laughed. "Sorry, kid. But if you wake up and need anything, you let me know right away. Now go to sleep," he said.
"Yes, sir. "
David tried to. He even drifted off at one point, but before he fell deeply asleep, he woke again. He wasn't sure why, at first. He just sensed something.
This time, though, it wasn't a nurse. It was a doctor, and he was one huge guy. He had David's arm in his tight grip when a light came on, aimed straight at David's face, keeping him from seeing the man, who became a silhouette against the glare.
"Turn the other way, kid," the doctor said. "I've got to take some blood. "
"Why are you taking blood in the middle of the night?" David asked. He wanted to shield his eyes from the light, but he felt as if the sleep he couldn't quite get was somehow hanging on to him, rendering his muscles useless.
"I need it," the doctor said. "Turn aside, I'll get my pints, and then you can go back to sleep. "
He turned as bidden. Then the words hit him.
I'll get my pints.
Pints-with anS .
He turned-and screamed.
The doctor held his arm, and his teeth were sunk into his vein.
Instantly, Santini was out of his chair. Without even looking up, the doctor flung back one of his arms, slamming Santini against the chest and sending him flying across the room.
The door to the room burst open. A second uniformed cop had appeared. The doctor still didn't ease up on David's arm.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" the officer warned.
The doctor turned at last. David never saw him move, but somehow he was in front of the officer and the gun was on the floor. There was a horrible keening sound. The officer was off his feet, held one-handed by the doctor, who had bitten his neck, and was sucking. . . smacking his lips, sucking more.
Santini was up, shaking his head. He headed for the doctor's back, but once again the doctor knew he was there. He threw out an arm, and Santini dropped to the ground.
The awful sucking sounds continued, seeming to go on and on as David tried to scream and the world faded to a sea of red-tinged black.
"No!" Jessica cried, turning around in a fury, the stake in her hand. The room was dark, filled with the red mist. She couldn't see her attacker, but it hadn't been the voice of the Master that threatened her; she knew that much. As she prepared to strike, a massive blow caught her arm; her stake went flying across the room.
She felt her attacker coming for her again, but she knew how to fight, and as split seconds flashed by, she waited. Then she lashed out with a hard kick, catching her opponent off balance, sending him staggering back.
Another scream.
She found her stake, wrenched open the door and went racing down the hall. She took the stairs in a single sweep, coming to the landing crouched and ready.
She had destroyed many wolves, but many yet remained, and they had not waited for any command to strike.
Directly in front of her, a painfully thin woman dressed in a skintight black dress stood with her fingers twined into the hair of a young man in Gothic attire, ready to sink her fangs deep into his neck. Others were on the attack all over the room.
She went for the vampire in the black dress first, since she was closest. A quick plunge of the stake into the back of the temptress and she was dust. Jessica heard a furious hiss and turned; an ancient vampire with gray hair and long skeletal arms was preparing to leap at her. She ducked, letting him fly overhead, then jumped atop him and sent the stake plunging downward. She saw a body go flying by-and burst into fragments of dust and bone as it passed.
Stunned, she turned in a rush.
The man in the low-brimmed hat and frock coat was back.
As she stared, he reached under his coat for a small crossbow as a vampire rushed at him. An arrow caught the attacker when he was just inches from the dark man's face, and he fell.
The doors were open, screams rode the sudden wind of violence whipping through the crumbling manor, and the lambs were spilling out of the plantation house in terror.
Jessica whirled, watching as the man in the low-brimmed hat strode through the room, arrow after arrow flying from his small crossbow. She turned again, under attack, ducking when a knife would have sliced through her neck, then rising to stake her opponent.
Suddenly there was silence. The room had emptied. The wolves were dust. The lambs had fled.
There were only the two of them left: herself and the man with the crossbow-which was aimed at her as he felt in his jacket for an arrow.
She flew across the room, slamming into him just as his fingers closed around the arrow. He flew backwards, and she flew with him. This was the man, she realized, who had attacked her upstairs. And he was about to kill her if he could.
He had landed hard against the wall, and she had landed on top of him, gasping for breath. She pushed against his chest, scrambling up, then turned to flee.
Too late. His arm shot out, his hand catching her ankle.
She fell hard to the floor.
In a second he was atop her, his weight bearing her down. She wedged an arm between them, throwing him off again, and tried to scramble away. She made it to her feet, but he was up, as well, and caught her by the shoulder. Without effort, he threw her across the room, sending her crashing against the newel post. Stunned, she nearly fell, then braced herself against the newel post and kicked out with all her strength as he came near, forcing him back.
Again she spun away in an attempt to escape, but he was there, in front of her. She tried to strike; he caught her arm. Off balance, she fell to the floor and landed next to the knife, one of the vampires had used against her earlier.
She reached for it as he followed her down, straddling her.
She had the knife. She could have used it, but something, some sixth sense, stopped her.
He was no longer on the attack, either. He simply straddled her, staring.
She stared defiantly back at him.
"Sweet Jesu," he whispered. "You. " And the sound of the words was worse than any agony she had known in years and years. . . and years.
Sean had practically been crawling up the walls. He knew something was about to happen. He just didn't know where.
Then the call came, and he moved as quickly as he could.
When he reached the hospital room, one of the rookie cops was coming out of it, throwing up all over the place. George Mendez was there, too, having come as quickly as possible when the call went out. He followed the rookie from the room, an
d Sean called to him.
"Mendez," Sean said. "What have you got so far?"
"I was in my car when the call came. We've got the M. E. on his way up, and a crime-scene unit. I had to walk in-" He paused, taking a deep breath. "I knew our men were dead, but the kid was alive. I carried him out. The only other person who's been in the room is the nurse who found the bodies. She was on duty and she heard a scream and saw the officer on duty in the hallway go in. When he didn't come back she called Security and went to check. She was standing there screaming when Security got here, and they called 911. "
Sean looked through the doorway. The bed was empty. There was a smear of blood on the sheets. Just a smear.
As for the rest of the room. . .
It was a bloodbath.
"It's been made to look as if Santini and Clark-those were our officers, I know you can't recognize them now-went after each other. They're. . . a mess. " Mendez paused. He was a toughened officer, but he was also one of the most humane and religious men with whom Sean had ever worked. There were tears in his eyes. "Santini. . . he was one of my best friends. And he was a good cop. Clark, too. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like they attacked each other with scalpels, but it's bull. "
"Gloves, shoe covers, sir. " Another officer offered Sean the required crime-scene gear. He didn't even look toward the doorway.
"Thank you, Rohan," he murmured.
"I-I didn't have gloves or shoe covers," Mendez muttered. "I. . . uh. . . "
"It's all right. You said the kid is alive?"
"Yes. They're giving him a transfusion now. "
"Right," Sean murmured. "Maybe. . . maybe he'll survive. "
"Maybe. " Mendez didn't sound as if he believed it for a minute.
Sean walked carefully into the hospital room. It was just as Mendez had described it. The two officers had died almost on top of each other, each of them with his fingers loosely wrapped around a scalpel.
He hunkered down and shook his head, gritting his teeth. The men's throats were both deeply cut, almost to the bone.
Carefully, Sean inspected the bodies. Santini's throat had been slashed through clean and hard, with tremendous force.
But Clark's neck. . .
Clark's neck hadn't been neatly slashed. It had been cut again and again.
An attempt, Sean was certain, to hide the marks left by the killer's fangs. He started to rise. The crime-scene unit would come, but they wouldn't find any answers, only more puzzles. There would be no footprints, no fingerprints. Nothing would explain this.
Suddenly he hunkered back down again. By Clark's outstretched fingers, something was written in the blood.
Sean stared at it.
Swearing silently, with a sinking heart, he pretended to take another look at Clark's fingers.
He smeared the single word written in blood.
Thename .
Then he rose, stepped out of the room. Mendez was staring at him dully.
Mendezknew .
"Should I stay with the kid?" Mendez asked dully.
Sean lowered his head. "It would be good," he said. He looked the man straight in the eye. "But you can't fall asleep. You can't be taken by surprise. And you have to be prepared. "
Mendez offered him a hollow, humorless laugh. "Oh, Sir. I have been prepared. Trust me, I'm prepared. Hey, I was here with the young lady, Mary. Take a look at my hair, sir. I practically bathed in holy water. " He took a deep breath. "Santini really fought. You can tell. You think he's an angel now?"
"Maybe," Sean said. Hell, what else could he say?
"You better get going, sir," Mendez said. "I won't leave. "
As Sean left, he wondered.
Mendez had seen the name printed in blood, but did he know what it meant?
"You," Bryan repeated, looking down at her.
"Professor MacAllistair," she murmured back.
He reached down, and she almost cringed, but all he did was toss the black wig and cat's eye mask aside. He let out a sigh. "Contact lenses, I presume?"
She shrugged where she lay.
"You'rethe dominatrix?" he demanded sharply.
"There is no real dominatrix," she replied.
He reached under his coat. Reaching, she was certain, for one of his deadly arrows.
"Listen to me," she pleaded. "The dominatrix is all an act. I created her with rumor. I had to find a way to get into the Master's parties without appearing to be suspicious. I swear to you, the dominatrix never appeared in the flesh until Transylvania. "
He sat back, his weight on his haunches, but his thighs like iron. "So you were at the debacle in Transylvania. Feasting?"
"No, you idiot. How could you have missed what happened here tonight? I killed more of those evil creatures than you did," she told him.
He hiked a brow. "I hardly think so. And what does it matter? Vampires have a habit of turning on one another when the need arises. And youare a vampire. "
She stared at him, then swallowed hard. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper. "There are good vampires. "
She watched the agony streak across his rugged features. "There is no such thing as a good vampire. "
"But there is," she whispered. "There is. I swear it. " Her mind raced. He knew she was a vampire. Was that all he knew? "How do you think all those people escaped while you were battling the Master in Transylvania? How do you think so many survived?"
"You?"
She met his eyes defiantly, as if daring him to doubt her.
"So where is the Master?" he demanded harshly.
"Oh, God," she whispered.
"You have no right to say that name. "
"You bastard! You know nothing," she charged. "And while we're here fighting each other. . . it was a setup," she said. "He's out there somewhere, killing, and we're here. He probably intended for us to kill each other. Damn you, I came here to killhim . "
Perhaps that convinced him at last; she would never know. They were both distracted by a bloodcurdling scream from the yard just outside the house.
He was up in a moment, and she leapt to her feet a split second later. They both tore for the door, but he was ahead of her, racing into the red darkness. She saw him, moving as if he flew. Then she heard a hollow cry and a roar of anger, saw a figure go flying. . . .
An arrow stuck the figure, and it burst into dust in mid-air.
There were sobs, and then the harsh demand, "Were you bitten?"
"No, no. . . I don't think so," a feminine voice said pathetically.
Whatever else went on there that night, Jessica decided, Bryan could handle it. It was time for her to make an exit-as speedily as possible.
He was, after all, a warrior.
And the Master was out there. . . somewhere.
The young girl, wearing too much makeup and a too-short skirt, stared at Bryan blankly. She was ashen and shaking, and looked as if she had gone entirely stupid, as if her mind had burned within her skull. She'd been drinking, maybe taking drugs. Would she even remember this?
"Come over here," he commanded impatiently.
"Are you. . . one of them?" she stuttered in fear. Mascara streaked her cheeks.
"Come here. For the love of God, I'm out of time. I've got to get you out of here, but I have to be certain-"
"I swear I wasn't bitten. Don't stake me. "
He sighed, gripped her arm and pulled her close. She didn't struggle. He saw a bruise on her neck; it was amazing she had managed to scream when she had been so nearly strangled by the vampire's grip.
He searched her arms, any bared flesh. She just stood there, shaking.
He could find no marks.
"You look clean. If you're lying to me. . . "
He held her for a minute, praying that instinct would kick in. He could usually trust his instinct.
Usually.
He had failed wi
th Jessica. He had heard a heartbeat when he held her. She had been as warm as fire. He had, in fact, never felt such a fire.
He swore suddenly. "Where are your friends? Who did you come here with?"
"I. . . I. . . Cindy and Jean. They're gone. They ran. . . faster. My shoe caught in a tree root. I. . . "
She trailed off, staring at him. Then she burst into tears, threw herself against him and passed out.
"Shit," he swore.
He had to get her back to people and light and safety.
There were no cop cars coming tonight. Tonight had all been a sham. The Master was somewhere else. They had all been conned.
He sighed deeply. He couldn't leave her.
And whatever the Master had been planning, Bryan was certain, had already been accomplished.
He lifted the girl into his arms and turned back toward the house. He didn't even bother calling Jessica's name. He knew she was already gone.