“They’re so afraid.” Vanora couldn’t even imagine how the last few nights had impacted the citizens of Houston and the world beyond. She at least knew what was behind the apparently ‘random’ violence.
The car in front of them was waved on, and Dexios shot Vanora a worried look before driving forward. When the Camaro was signaled to a stop, Dexios lowered the window.
The officer’s badge read Morales, but Vanora knew his first name was Miguel. When he leaned down to peer into the car, he was so big his whole body blocked the window. The man’s dark eyes swept over Dexios and Vanora. Swallowing, Vanora sat very still, her wallet open on her lap. The police officer’s expression was completely unreadable.
Dexios sat quietly, his hands in plain view on the steering wheel. The tension in his still body spoke of his nervousness. Vanora knew they couldn’t afford delays. She was tempted to try to reach into the police officer’s mind again.
“You’re on your way to deal with what’s going on, huh?” Miguel said at last in a lowered voice.
“Yes, we are,” Dexios answered calmly.
“Good luck.” Miguel slapped his hand twice on the roof of the car and stepped away as he motioned them through the checkpoint.
As Dexios rolled up the driver’s side window, Vanora exhaled with relief.
“Well done,” Dexios said, sounding impressed.
“I wasn’t sure it would work,” Vanora admitted.
“Well, at least now we won’t be held up.”
Vanora stored her wallet away in her purse. It was such a mundane action. A normal human one. But she wasn’t normal, and maybe not even human anymore.
“You can do this,” Dexios said, driving onward.
Vanora nodded even though there was a heavy knot of doubt resting in her gut. “I hope so.”
* * *
“Are you done yet?” Greg asked, his voice rife with irritation.
Deb looked up from her task, eyes blazing. “If you want us to go faster, come help us. They’re heavy.”
The three security guards grunted and cursed as they shoved Alexander’s long body into a plastic storage bin. His height made it difficult and they struggled to contort his shape to fit. Alisha had been easier to pack for delivery. The plastic bin containing her was already set by the loading door. Another empty bin awaited Armando.
Pacing down the aisle, Greg muttered under his breath. Maybe packing the vampires would be easier if he helped, but he wanted to distance himself from the actual task. He’d already agreed to deliver them to Aeron’s haven, but he didn’t want to muddy his hands any more than he already had. Though he was a demon, he had certain standards. It was difficult to betray Vanora. More than he’d imagined. When he’d recognized her trust in him, it had made his part of his deal even harder to fulfill.
Alexander’s heavy boots banged against the side of the container, and one of the many buckles snagged the side.
For a moment, Greg remembered one crazy night in London that he’d spent with Sheila and Alexander during the height of the punk scene. The vampires had different names then, but he couldn’t remember them anymore. Sheila had sported one of the biggest mohawks he’d ever seen, and Alexander had worn an outfit only held together with safety pins. Greg had just molted into a new persona and had allowed Sheila to tease his newly blond hair into spikes and dress him in black and red. It was the only night he’d actually hung out with Sheila and Alexander as just a friend. It had been wild, crazy, and fun. The next day, he’d abandoned them. He hadn’t really given it much thought then, but now in the aftermath of Sheila’s loss, he could admit he’d left because he’d feared forming a friendship with them. Even immortals could die, and Greg hadn’t wanted to invite more loss into his life. It was hard enough having lost his wife. Plus, it was always difficult moving on from his harems.
“Fuck it.” Greg stomped over, pushed the women aside, and grabbed Alexander’s boots. Finding the zipper, he tugged it down, yanked the boot off, and tossed it in on top of the vampire. Once the second was removed, he was able to maneuver Alexander’s legs into a position where he fit into the confined space. “Just close it up. I’ll deal with Armando.”
“You’re in a foul mood,” Deb observed.
Lakeisha shook her head, her long dreads rustling against her uniform. “He always gets this way when he knows he’s doing something wrong.”
Molly rolled her eyes while fastening the lid to the bin. “And he says he doesn’t have a conscience.”
“You harpies can drop the chatter and get to work,” Greg groused. He hated to admit that he was beginning to feel badly about his arrangement. At first, he’d been buoyed by the thought finally seeing Siana again, but now he was feeling what might just be a twinge of remorse.
“Feeling guilty,” Lakeisha insisted.
Greg growled at her, but she only laughed.
Using a moving dolly, the three women dragged Alexander to where Alisha awaited pickup.
Grumbling, Greg dragged the last bin on a handcart over to where Armando was asleep. The Spanish vampire annoyed Greg to no end. The contempt Armando felt for the incubus was always apparent in his voice and manner, his distrust evident in his eyes. Now Greg was proving the vampire correct, and it pissed him off. With more force than needed, Greg jerked the prone man off the sofa and dumped him into the plastic container. A few quick shoves here and there fit the vampire into the narrow space. Greg tossed the leather jacket on top of Armando, then heaved the lid on top. Molly joined him and started to snap the lid into place.
“So why are you doing this?” she asked.
“It’s not your business!” Greg barked.
Molly was one of his newer girls. He liked her wild red hair and freckles, but her inquisitive nature sometimes annoyed him. She always needled him with questions. The guards weren’t really a part of his harem. He was not around them enough to rope them under his influence. They were loyal due to their fat salaries and stellar benefits. All they did was watch television or read while keeping watch over his possessions. Sometimes he liked that they were more independent of his harem, but their looks of disapproval, questions, and judging comments were starting to upset him.
Or maybe he really did have a guilty conscience.
That was a bothersome thought.
Shrugging, Molly finished her task and then dragged Armando away to the others.
Greg checked his watch, grimaced at the time, and stalked to the office. Deb had cleaned up after their romp, but the remnants of the sexual energy still sizzled in the air. Inhaling deeply, he let the carnal puissance wash over him and calm his frazzled mind. The monitors set before him revealed the outside world in shades of black, gray and white. The early morning fog and rain only added to the classic horror film feel of the day. Digging his phone out of his jeans, he set it on the counter and settled into a chair.
The incubus hated that he was actually starting to experience second thoughts about his deal, but if he were to have any chance to see Siana, he had to stick to his decision. He hated that he didn’t have control over the situation and that he was at the mercy of others.
Staring at the phone, he considered calling Vanora to check on her.
“Nope. I don’t care. She’s just a bitch doing her job.” Greg glowered at the monitors, furious with the niggling feeling of guilt he was experiencing.
When the delivery truck turned onto the drive, Greg tensed. The werewolves were right on time. Deb entered the office just as the intercom buzzed. She answered, giving Greg a sidelong look. He ignored her, but gestured for her to open the gate. The knot in his gut tightened as he watched the progression of the truck up the drive.
“They trusted you,” Deb said at last. The emphasized word stung.
“Yeah, but I’m a demon.” He kicked back the chair and gruffly pushed past her.
Leaving the office, Greg stomped toward the delivery doors. Molly and Lakeisha watched him, hands on their hips, their eyes accusing.
; “Roll up the door!”
The women obeyed him.
As the metal door ascended, Greg came to a halt before the loading area. The delivery truck finished backing up to the entrance and the rear door rolled up to reveal Leto and two of her wolves. The She-Wolf was dressed in dark leggings and a long sleeveless tunic top that was as gray as the day. Whereas everyone else was freezing, she was bare-armed and barefooted. She stepped over the gap between the truck and building and leaned over one of the bins. Laying her hand against the opaque plastic, she became very still. The thick drape of her hair hid her face, but Greg sensed the warmth of her magic filling the air and he took a cautious step back.
“Well done.” Gesturing to a man and a woman climbing up onto the loading platform, she said, “Load them onto the truck.”
“At dusk, I expect the ward to be down, Leto. If you betray me, I will find a way to make you hurt,” Greg said, his voice rife with desperation and anger.
Tilting her head, Leto’s eyes gleamed dangerously. “The ward will come down.”
“You’re putting a lot of faith in Vanora.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Yet you feel the need to do this.” Greg waved irritably at the bins being loaded onto the truck.
“I always have a backup plan,” Leto replied.
Greg grunted a response. He didn’t trust Leto, but this was closet he’d come in centuries to possibly seeing Siana. “I want assurances that you will deliver Siana, Leto.”
“There’s no assurance that she will survive once Aeron dies. If all the vampires die, she might too. Her seer nature might save her, but there are no assurances.”
Though he knew her words were true, it didn’t make the situation any easier to accept. “I want to be with her in the end if things go south. I want to hold her. Don’t fuck me over, Leto.”
“You’ll get to hold your wife one last time, demon. I promise you that.”
“And if the vampires don’t die, you will let us both go. No vanquishing. Just let me and her go.”
Sighing with irritation, Leto said, “This is what I promised you last night, Greg. I will honor our agreement.”
The final bin containing Armando was secured inside the truck. Greg fought against the seeds despair and guilt that were trying very hard to take root in his psyche.
Leto stepped into the back of the truck with her wolves and crouched down beside the bin holding Alisha. Pressing her palm flat against the surface, she smiled.
“So you’re just going to hand them over to Aeron and hope your plan works?”
Retaining her smirk, Leto signaled for the door to be rolled down. It clanged shut a second later, and her two guards returned to the cab. The exhaust rolled over the edge of the loading dock, acrid and cloying. The truck rolled away, and Greg turned away as his security guards lowered the door.
“You suck, Greg!” Molly called out.
“Yeah, yeah,” Greg replied, stalking toward the office.
It was going to be a very long day.
* * *
The Camaro traveled over the heavily-potmarked road into the heart of what had once been a bustling warehouse area. Heavy chains secured rusty gates and dead foliage threaded the sloping hurricane fences lining the road. Graffiti obscured the name of the company that had once inhabited the line of buildings. A few seagulls made brief appearances overhead before vanishing into the thick mist. The area was a few miles from the Houston docks.
Dexios drove through an open gate and parked the car between two storage containers. “We’ll walk from here.”
“This is where the haven is?” Vanora looked about incredulously.
“Out of the way. Abandoned. It’s perfect. Aeron bought the property long ago and had his haven built inside during the night hours by a very private construction company.”
“He’s been planning this a long time.”
“Ever since he discovered you’d been born here in Houston.”
Inhaling sharply through quivering lips, Vanora stared out at the dense fog drifting along the ground. Again, she was struck by the unreality of her situation. Growing up, she’d always felt apart from the world, but had believed it was due to her albinism. It had only been days since she’d found Rhonda dead on the doorstep of their apartment. Only a few nights since Roman had died. Yet it felt as though eons had passed. The Vanora Socoli that had existed before was gone. And again, she feared, had never really existed.
“We need to hurry.” Dexios slid from the car.
Bundling up in her coat and scarf, Vanora pushed open the door, stepped out, and stood shivering in the frosty air. “It’s so cold.”
“Blame him. The amount of magic he exerts over an area affects the weather.” Dexios locked the car and circled it to come to her side.
“So a private construction company builds havens for vampires?” Vanora slung her bag across her torso and slipped her hand into the crook of Dexios’s proffered arm.
“Yes. There’s quite a few companies set up all over the world that cater just to the supernatural population. We have needs, you know.”
With a bitter laugh, Vanora stared through the mist at the shadowy forms of the buildings. “It feels like my entire life before now was an elaborate lie.”
“Not a lie. Just one variation of the truth.”
The blacktop was cracked from the unrelenting Texas sun and determined weeds. The beginnings of a mesquite tree pushed through one pothole. Keeping to the side of the warehouse, they kept out of sight of the roadway.
“So despite all the purges and Aeron’s war, the supernaturals found a way to build havens? Does that mean they had somewhat normal lives?” Armando’s career as an author immediately came to mind.
“Well, honestly, a lot of the purges were centered on the European continent except for the battles against Stonychia, who fled into Egypt with her progeny. There are many vampires all over the world who know nothing about their origins, the Seven Sisters, the purges, and Aeron. One of the reasons Aeron started his quest to destroy the Seven Sisters is because they did not control their progeny. He believed vampires should be much more discriminating about those they changed, but the Seven Sisters let their children run amok.”
“And spread around the world.”
“Yes.”
Reflecting on her journey with Aeron, she could easily understand his frustration. He craved order and would definitely want the vampires to be more selective in choosing whoever they transformed.
“So some vampires get to have normal lives until Aeron shows up for the purge?”
“Yes. Well, as normal as it can be for a vampire. And there were long periods of time where Aeron couldn’t find the remaining sisters and there would be lulls in the violence.”
Dexios directed Vanora down a narrow passage between two moldering buildings. The warehouses had seen better days. All the windows were cracked or missing, the metal rusted, and the wood rotting. The air was thick with the smell of organic decay, wet concrete, and mildew.
“And when he found one of the sisters, it would start up all over again?”
“Exactly. Your friend Armando was able to have peaceful times between the battles.”
That was actually a comfort. Vanora didn’t like the idea of him only suffering the violence of battle and not enjoying his long life. A life she might bring to an end when she vanquished Aeron.
Broken glass crunched beneath their feet as they strolled toward Aeron’s haven. It was difficult to grasp onto the idea of the albino vampire living in such a desolate place. He’d come from humble beginnings, but he had the arrogance of a god. In that regard, he definitely reminded her of Leto. She’d imagined him living in a palace, not a rundown warehouse.
Stopping at a metal utility hatch set at an angle into the concrete, Dexios exhaled, his warm breath pluming like smoke from a temple censer. “This is it.”
“Huh?” Vanora doubtfully stared at the metal doors.
“There is a series of underg
round tunnels that connect all the parts of his haven. And this is how we’re getting in.”
“And he totally missed this entrance how?” Vanora lifted her eyebrows and swept some white strands of hair from her face.
Dexios bent over, unlatched one door, and jerked it open. The old service entrance into the warehouse was cemented over. “He had it sealed.”
“So then how do we get in?”
“Leto had a hole chiseled through it.” Dexios stepped through the solid looking mass, the lower half of his body vanishing into the cement. “And then she had a glamour spell placed on it. No one can see the opening in the cement. You just have to know where it is. Step exactly where I am when I vanish, then hunch down.” Dexios immediately dropped out of sight, the concrete appearing whole where he’d just stood.
Cautiously, Vanora advanced on the solid-appearing concrete barrier. Despite having witnessed Dexios easily slip through it, she found it hard to believe there was a hole in the slab. It looked so solid. It was even spotted with drops of moisture dripping from the overhanging roof. Vanora gingerly placed one foot in the spot where Dexios had just stood. Her foot disappeared through the cement, allowing her to step down.
“Into the frying pan,” she muttered, and set her other foot down.
Vanora crouched and was disoriented as the cement swirled around her face, then closed over her head. She found herself squatting in a tunnel with a very low ceiling. Dexios was hunched over, waiting. An electric camping lantern illuminated the small space.
“Just scoot forward so I can get the door,” he whispered.
Vanora kept her head down while fighting mild claustrophobia and inched forward. The tunnel wasn’t very long. At the end was another blank cement wall. The metal door clanged shut overhead, sending a shiver through her body. It was such a final noise.
Lifting the lantern, Dexios hurried along the length of the tunnel, Vanora in his wake. It was hard to walk hunched over, but she didn’t feel like crawling over the grit covering the floor.
Dexios set the lamp down and swiveled toward her. “Stay silent. I’m going to make sure Kallos is waiting and no one else.”
In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Third Season Page 28