Violets Are Blue

by James Patterson

  It had already been a long night for us by the time the festivities started. We waited until just past two to approach the house. Some of the party goers were college age, a few were even younger, but at least half of the crowd looked to be thirty or older. A few arrived in limousines and other expensive cars. The dress for the night was definitely eye-catching: antique morning coats and top hats, velvet Victorian gowns, corsets, walking sticks, tiaras.

  The Goth crowd sheathed their androgynous bodies mostly in black leather and velvet, with frilly white and black lace on several of the women. There were body piercings everywhere, belly rings, dog collars, black lipstick, and gobs of mascara on both the men and the women.

  Bloodred eyes stared from every direction. It was difficult to look away from them. A song called “Pistol Grip Pump” played from hidden speakers outside the house. Fangs were everywhere. And stage blood. A few of the women wore black or purple velvet bands around their necks, presumably to conceal bite marks.

  It got more interesting and eerie inside the house. People were addressing one another with titled names, Sir Nicholas, Mistress Anne, The Baroness, Prince William, Master Ormson. A statuesque woman walked by and brazenly sized up Jamilla. She was bronzed with body paint and wore a bronze-colored thong. The iron scent of blood mingled with smoky leather and pungent oil from wall torches.

  Jamilla looked ready; she was definitely tough. She had on a tight, sleek black dress with leather boots and black stockings. If she’d wanted to look sexy, she’d succeeded. She had purchased black lipstick and leather wristbands at a place called the Little Shop of Fantasy on Dumaine Street. She’d also helped me with my outfit: a morning coat that scraped the floor, cravat, black trousers, and black boots that came to my knees.

  No one seemed to pay much attention to the two of us. We checked out the main floor, then flowed with the crowd down into the basement. There were flaming torches everywhere on the stone walls. The floors were dirt and stone. It was cold and damp and musty.

  “Jesus, Alex,” Jamilla whispered close to my ear. She took my arm, held it tight. “I don’t think I would have believed it if I wasn’t standing right here.”

  I felt exactly the same. Many of those congregating downstairs wore canine teeth that were terrifying, especially in such large numbers. Electrified candelabras and fiery torches were the only sources of light. I saw human skulls nailed into the walls, and I was sure they were real.

  I started checking to make sure we could get out of there if we had to. I wasn’t sure about a quick escape. The crowd was thickening, and the feeling was claustrophobic. I wondered if someone was supposed to die here tonight. If so, who?

  Then I heard a deep voice announce, “The Sire is here. Bow your heads.”

  Chapter 72

  THE CAVERNOUS underground room was quiet and tense. I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was about to see something I wasn’t supposed to. Then Daniel Erickson and Charles Defoe made their grand entrance.

  The magicians epitomized outrageous bohemian royalty. The audience of faithful obediently bowed their heads. Both men were physically impressive. Charles was bare chested and wore skintight leather pants with boots. He was an erotic-looking man with a powerful build. Daniel had on a tight black frock coat with black trousers and a black silk cravat. He was well muscled but slender at the waist.

  Tugging against a heavy metal leash in front of them was a white Bengal tiger. Jamilla and I exchanged looks. “This is getting interesting in a hurry,” she whispered.

  Daniel stopped to talk with several of the young men. I remembered that the earliest murder victims were all men. The tiger was less than ten feet away from me. What part did it play in this? Was it just a symbol—and for what?

  Charles came and stood next to Daniel against the far wall. He whispered something close to Daniel’s face. They laughed and looked around the room.

  Daniel finally spoke in a loud, clear voice. I could tell he expected to be listened to. His confidence was charismatic. “I am the Sire. What a vibrant and alive gathering this is,” he said. “I can feel the energy coursing through this room. It excites me.

  “The force harnessed here knows no limits. Believe in it. Believe in yourselves. Tonight is a special night. So come with me to the next room. The next level. Come, if you believe—or even better, if you don’t.”

  Chapter 73

  I HAD never seen anything like this. Jamilla and I were quiet and wide-eyed as we entered an even larger chamber in the basement. The room was lit by wall sconces, most of them electric. The brutal fangs gleamed everywhere. The white tiger had begun to growl, and I recalled the bites into human flesh.

  If you hunt for vampires . . .

  What was happening in this eerie cellar? What was the purpose of tonight’s gathering? Who were these ghouls—hundreds of them?

  Daniel and Charles stood beside two tall, handsome men in satiny black robes. They looked to be in their early twenties, maybe even younger. They looked like young gods. Everyone crowded forward to see what would happen next.

  “I am here to anoint two new vampire princes,” Daniel announced with grave authority. The persona was the same one he used onstage. “Bow before them!”

  A woman in front screamed. “Our princes!” she shrieked. “Dark princes! I worship you!”

  “Silence!” Charles shouted. “Take that stupid cow out of here. Banish her.”

  The lights suddenly blinked once, then went completely out. The few burning torches were doused. I reached for Jamilla, and we slid back toward the nearest wall.

  I couldn’t see anything. I felt a cold spot at the center of my chest.

  “What the hell is happening, Alex?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s keep together.”

  It got crazy very fast in the darkness. People screamed. A whip cracked nearby. It was madness. Chaos. Sheer terror.

  Jamilla and I had our guns out. There wasn’t anything we could do in the dark.

  A minute or so passed. Everything was inky blackness. It seemed like a very long time. Too long. I was afraid of being stabbed. Or bitten.

  A generator kicked in somewhere in the house. The lights in the cellar flickered, then went on again. Then off. Then on to stay.

  I saw afterimages, rings of color. And then—

  The magicians had disappeared.

  Someone shouted, “There’s been a murder! Oh God, they’re both dead.”

  Chapter 74

  I PUSHED my way through the shocked crowd and didn’t meet resistance. Then I saw the bodies. The two young men in black robes lay sprawled on the cellar floor. They had been stabbed and their throats cut. Blood was pooled around the bodies. Where were Daniel and Charles?

  “Police,” I called out. “Don’t touch them. Back away.”

  The men and women closest to the bodies slunk away. I wondered if they had been about to drink the spilled blood. Wasn’t that the ritual? The pattern for the ghoulish murders so far?

  “There’s only two of them! Two cops!” someone shouted.

  “We will shoot you,” Jamilla called out in a loud, clear voice.

  “Back away. Do it. Where are Daniel and Charles?” I shouted.

  The crowd began to close in on us, so I fired off a warning shot. It echoed loudly. The shot created renewed chaos in the cellar. Men and women began struggling to get through the doors. No one was getting away, though. FBI agents were waiting outside.

  Jamilla and I pushed our way into a connecting room in the basement. We started down a narrow hallway lit only by candles. Daniel and Charles could have come this way when the lights went out. It seemed likely; they knew the house.

  There were small rooms crowded next to one another on either side of the dusty tunnel. The layout reminded me of ancient catacombs. Everything was closed in—musty, damp, depressing as hell, scary.

  “You okay?” I glanced back at Jamilla.

  “I’m fine. So far anyway. This place is starting to grow on me,” she wisecr
acked. Her eyes darted about, though.

  I could hear Kyle’s voice calling to us. The FBI was inside now. “Anything up there? Alex? You see anything?”

  “Not yet. Daniel and Charles took off when the lights went out. No sign of them.”

  We moved cautiously, checking each of the rooms. Most of the space seemed to be used for storage. A few were completely empty. Dank and eerie, like tombs. Atmospheric, I suppose. Spooky for sure.

  I kicked open another door. Jamilla and I peered in. She gasped, her mouth open in a silent scream. “Oh Jesus, Alex! What the hell happened?”

  I reached out and held on to her arm. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I couldn’t make myself believe it. My knees went weak.

  Daniel and Charles were laid out on the floor of the room. They had been murdered. I was too stunned to speak. Kyle came into the room behind us, said not a word.

  We moved closer to the bodies, but I knew they were dead. The throats of both men had been cut. And there were deep bites, fang marks.

  So who was the Sire now?

  Part Four

  HUNT

  Chapter 75

  LATE THE following afternoon, Jamilla had to return to San Francisco. She pretty much admitted that she was burned-out and baffled. I gave her a ride to the airport, and we continued to talk about the murder case all the way there. We realized we were both obsessing.

  What had happened the night before changed everything. We had tracked down the supposed killers, and they had been killed. This was a complex and thoroughly annoying murder mess in which anything seemed possible. The killers weren’t necessarily clever, but they were full of surprises.

  “Where do you go from here, Alex?” she asked, as we turned into the airport.

  I laughed. “Oh, now it’s where do I go?”

  “You know what I mean. C’mon.”

  “I’ll probably stay down here for another day or two, see if I can help out. Everyone who was in the house, at least the ones who were caught, are being held by the New Orleans police. That’s a lot of freaks to be interviewed. Somebody has to know something.”

  “If you can get anything out of them. You think the New Orleans cops are cooperating now? They sure weren’t before.”

  I smiled. “You know how stubborn local cops can be. We’ll get what we need. It just might take a little longer. I’m sure that’s part of the reason Kyle wants me to stay on.”

  She frowned at the mention of Kyle’s name. I knew she was disappointed to be leaving, though. “I have to get back home, but I’m not going to drop this one. My friend Tim at the Examiner is doing another big piece on the California murders. Maybe it all started out there. Think about it.”

  “Eleven years ago, maybe more,” I said. “But who were the first killers? Daniel Erickson and Charles Defoe? Someone else in the cult? Is there a cult?”

  She threw her hands up in the air. “I have no idea at this point. I’m practically brain dead. I’m going to get on my plane and sleep all the way home.”

  We talked some more about the weirdness of the case. Then I asked her about Tim at the Examiner. “Just a friend,” she said.

  Jamilla and I shook hands at the curbside luggage drop in front of the area marked for American Airlines. Then she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.

  I slid my hand behind her neck and held her for a few seconds. It was nice. The two of us had shared a lot of pain and misery in a short time. We had also been in a life-threatening situation.

  “Alex, as always, an honor,” she said as she pulled away. “Thanks for the Krispy Kremes and everything else.”

  “Keep in touch,” I said. “Will you, Jamilla?”

  “Absolutely. I plan to. You can count on it. I mean that, Alex.”

  Then Inspector Jamilla Hughes turned away and walked inside the bustling terminal at New Orleans International. I was definitely going to miss her. I already thought of her as a friend.

  I watched her go, then headed back to the FBI offices in New Orleans to bury my head in some work. I went over everything we had with Kyle. Then we went over everything again, just to be sure it was as fucked up as we thought it was. The two of us agreed that there weren’t even any good theories about what had happened to Daniel and Charles. We just didn’t know. No one was talking so far—or maybe no one had seen anything.

  “Whoever killed them wanted to show us that they were superior. To them. To us. Physically, mentally, in terms of their ruthlessness,” I said. But I wasn’t really sure about that. I was just thinking out loud.

  “I don’t think it was an accident that the whole thing feels a little like a magic trick,” Kyle said. “Doesn’t that strike you, Alex? Some connection to magic?”

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t a magic trick. Daniel and Charles are dead, and so are a lot of other people. Going back a lot of years.”

  “We’re nowhere. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yeah. And I don’t like it here,” I said.

  Chapter 76

  I WORKED late that night in the FBI office. So what else was new? Around nine I was feeling lonely and edgy, all messed up. I had called home, but nobody was there. That worried me a little, until I remembered that it was my aunt Tia’s birthday and Nana was throwing a party at Tia’s new house in Chapel Gate, north of Baltimore.

  I hadn’t bought Tia a present. Damn it. Damn me. Ever since I had come to Washington as a kid, Tia had never forgotten my birthday. Not once. This year, she had given me the watch that I was wearing now. I called her house in Maryland, and I got to talk to most of my relatives. They teased that I was missing out on some great sock-it-to-me cake. They wanted to know where I was, and when I was coming home.

  I didn’t have a satisfactory answer to give them. “Soon as I can. I miss you all. You have no idea how much I miss being there.”

  I decided I needed to stop in at the magicians’ house before I went back to the Dauphine. Why did I need to do that? I wondered. Because I was wired. Because I am obsessive. A couple of New Orleans policemen were stationed out front. They looked bored and underutilized, and definitely not obsessive.

  I showed them ID, then I was let inside. No problem, Detective Cross.

  I really wasn’t sure why, but I had a vague feeling that we had missed something in the house. Forensics had spent hours going over the place. So had I. We hadn’t found anything concrete. Still, I didn’t like being in the old house again. The domain. Maybe I needed a gris-gris for protection.

  I walked through the overdone, very ornate foyer and living room. My footsteps made the big house sound empty. I kept wondering, what were we missing? What was I missing?

  The master bedroom was situated off the hall at the top of the stairs. Nothing had changed since the first time I was in there. Why in hell had I bothered to come back? The large, open room was filled with dark modern art, some of it hung, but several paintings were propped up against the walls. The magicians slept in a bed, not in the coffins we’d found below in the tunnels.

  As I was searching through their closet again, I came across something I hadn’t seen before. I was sure it hadn’t been there when I’d examined the bedroom earlier. Lying among the shoes were effigies of Daniel and Charles—miniature dolls of the magicians.

  There were slash marks across the throats, chests, and faces. Just like the way they had been murdered.

  Where the hell had the gruesome effigies come from? What did they mean? What was going on down here in New Orleans? Who had gotten into this house after we sealed it? I was tempted to call Kyle, but I held off. I wasn’t sure why.

  I didn’t want to go back down into the tunnels alone and at night—but I was here, and I figured I ought to take another quick look around. There were two cops posted right outside the door, right?

  What were we missing?

  Unspeakably violent murders went back at least eleven years.

  Our two best suspects had been murdered.

  Someone had put effigies in thei
r bedroom.

  I went down to the cellar, then into the tunnels that spidered out in several directions from the main area. New Orleans is about eight feet below sea level, and the cellar and tunnels were probably always damp. The walls sweat.

  I heard a scraping noise and stopped. Something was walking around. I reached into my shoulder holster, took out my Glock.

  I listened closely. Nothing. Then more scraping.

  Mice or rats, I thought. Probably all it is. Probably. Almost definitely.

  I had to go and look further, though. That was my problem, wasn’t it? I had to go look, had to investigate, couldn’t just walk away. What was I trying to prove to myself? That I had no fears? That I wasn’t like my father, who had quit on just about everything in life, including his kids and himself?

  I inched forward slowly and quietly—and I listened to the house.

  I could hear water dripping somewhere in the dank tunnels.

  I used my old Zippo to light a few torches hung on the tunnel walls. There were really bad images in my head. The bite wounds on the bodies I’d seen. The way Daniel and Charles had been attacked. The poisonous bites I’d suffered in Charlotte. You’re one of us now.

  The anger, the rage connected to the murders were present in so many cities.

  What were the killers angry about?

  Where were they right now?

  I never heard them coming, never saw a movement.

  I was hit—twice. The attackers had come swiftly out of the darkness. One went for my head and neck. The other hit around my knees. They were a team. Efficient.

  I went down hard, and it took the wind right out of me. But I fell on the attacker who was wrapped around my legs. I heard a loud crack, maybe a bone breaking. Then a scream. He let me go.