The Black Rose Chronicles

by Linda Lael Miller

  The van bounced violently over what must have been a cattle-guard, and then Neely heard branches scraping the vehicle’s sides. They were in the countryside somewhere, maybe deep in a wood, but she had no idea where because she didn’t know how long she’d been knocked out.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she called out.

  Hargrove sighed. “Don’t try any stupid tricks, Neely,” he whispered. “This is no time to be a hero!”

  “It’s no trick,” Neely replied. “I really have to go.”

  The driver cursed—more fluent Brooklynese—but he wrenched the van over to one side of the road, and it jolted to a stop. “I told ya we shoulda just shot ’em both dead,” he muttered to his partner. “Next thing you know, this broad is gonna wanna pick up a frozen yogurt someplace.”

  “Keep goin’,” the other thug replied. “She can just hold it.”

  “I can’t hold it!” Neely protested.

  “Look, lady, I ain’t gonna fall for any of that TV stuff and untie your hands so’s you can go to the john in some blackberry thicket, awright? Only other option is, I go out there, too, and pull your pants down for you. You want that?”

  “No,” Neely snapped. “Of course I don’t.”

  “Then shut up.”

  “I wouldn’t mind pullin’ down the lady’s pants, Sally,” volunteered the driver.

  “Ain’t you been payin’ attention, Vinnie? You can catch bad diseases doin’ stuff like that. And don’t use my name again!”

  “Right, Sally,” grumbled Vinnie.

  They went over a particularly large bump, and Neely’s head thumped hard against the floor. She closed her eyes and fought a wave of dizzy nausea with all her strength of spirit. This was no time to pass out, even if she did find oblivion more appealing than reality.

  The van soon ground to a stop, and the front doors slammed almost simultaneously. On Hargrove’s side there was a click as a latch was lifted, a grinding rush as the panel was shoved aside.

  Vinnie and Sally showed no inclination toward gentleness or mercy as they wrenched their captives out onto the snowy ground, the senator first, then Neely. She pressed her thighs together, desperate to relieve herself.

  They were propelled forward, toward a shadowy, boxlike house, passing an ancient clothesline and a mossy, snow-dusted cement birdbath. Time and neglect had tilted the structure to one side, and it reminded Neely of a tombstone.

  The way things were going, she thought, it might tum out to be her own.

  Vinnie, who was at least eighty pounds overweight and probably on the fast track to a triple bypass, lumbered up a set of creaky wooden steps and produced a jangle of keys from the pocket of his pants. Maybe he was a slob, and he’d certainly made poor career choices, but he dressed well.

  They entered a room, and the lights blared on, revealing a kitchen with a sagging floor and one of those old refrigerators with the motor on top, among other things. To the left, at the end of a long, narrow hallway, Neely saw the glimmer of white porcelain.

  “Please,” she said.

  Surprisingly, Sally gripped her by the back of the neck and marched her toward the bathroom. “I never nabbed nobody that was more trouble than you,” he griped. He wrenched the ropes off her wrists and flung her through the doorway. “Don’t try nothin’ stupid, neither. That window over the toilet is painted shut, and even if you broke it, you wouldn’t even get across the yard before I caught you. You got it?”

  “Got it,” Neely said with a sigh. She went into the bathroom, switched on the light, and quickly attended to her business. While she was doing that, she scanned the small cubicle for a weapon, such as an old-fashioned razor or maybe a plunger with a thick handle. There was nothing visible except for a scrub brush that had been stuck bristles first into a rusty coffee can.

  Neely flushed, fastened her jeans, and washed her hands at the stained sink. When she came out, Sally was waiting. He didn’t bind her wrists again immediately but instead gripped her elbow and double-timed her into what had probably been a living room at one time.

  There was a piano with a warped keyboard on one side of the room, a wood stove on the other. On the wall over a filthy, rat-chewed sofa was a maudlin portrait of some martyred saint, suffering big time.

  Aidan, Neely thought.

  The distinctness of the answer startled her so much that she jerked, as if someone had touched her with something hot. Hang on, love. I’m on my way.

  Such relief swept through Neely at the clarity of the thought, and the knowledge that it had not been her own, that she swayed on her feet.

  Vinnie thrust her into a chair and wrenched her hands back, to be tied again. The senator was beside her in another chair, also bound. He looked strangely detached, as if he’d managed to move out of his body and watch the evening’s events from a distance.

  Inwardly Neely sighed. Given all the things Dallas Hargrove had done, it wasn’t surprising that he was a master of denial. No intelligent person could have betrayed so many trusts, public and private, without practicing a great deal of self-delusion.

  Calmer now—although her senses told her Aidan was nowhere near, she had heard his voice—Neely watched as Sally built a fire in the stove to take the chill off the room, with its wavy, linoleum-covered floor. Vinnie wandered over to the opposite side of the room and opened a battered old cabinet that looked as if it might contain a Murphy bed.

  Instead there was a big-screen TV set inside.

  Vinnie switched it on, tuned it to the news channel, and cursed. Melody Ling’s carefully made up face loomed on the screen; she was standing in front of the Capitol Building in Washington.

  Neely listened with gratitude and relief. Quietly, professionally, the journalist blew the lid off the whole scandal, listing crimes and naming names.

  Senator Hargrove was still in a stupor; he didn’t look up or react at all to the mention of his part in the complicated, ugly matter. Officers of both the DEA and the Bureau wanted to talk to the politician, Ling said; the head of an eastern crime syndicate and two FBI agents had already been arrested.

  As if as an afterthought, she went on. “Added to this tragic perversion of justice is the fact that Elaine Hargrove died tonight at Washington Hospital. She never regained consciousness, following a recent automobile accident, and was surrounded by friends and family at the end—except, of course, for her husband, Senator Dallas Hargrove….”

  The senator emitted a wolflike howl of grief that tore at Neely’s heart. Godspeed, Elaine, she thought sadly. She had sincerely admired the other woman’s professionalism and courage, and nothing could change that.

  Vinnie and Sally were in a panic. “Did you hear that?” one of them demanded of the other—Neely wasn’t paying enough attention to notice which. “They brought down the Boss, for God’s sake!”

  The voices became distorted, seeming to pulse and echo through a tunnel.

  “I say we kill ’em both!”

  “The hell with that! You wanna stay here and play wise guy, you do it, but I’m getting out.”

  The senator began to sob, but for once he probably wasn’t worried about his own hide. He’d just learned that his wife was dead, he had not been with her at the moment she’d most needed him, and in spite of all the terrible things he’d done, Neely sincerely pitied him.

  13

  Vinnie and Sally were still arguing under the painting of the martyred saint when Aidan materialized in a corner of the room.

  Neely grinned, being both glad to see him and fairly used to his theatrical entrances and exits. He was wearing the uniform of a Nazi officer, of all things, and he slapped one gloved palm with a riding crop as he stood glowering at the two crooks from Brooklyn.

  “Holy shit,” said Vinnie.

  “Where did he come from?” Sally asked.

  Aidan gave Neely a sidelong glance and a wink, though no one else seemed to notice the gesture. “So,” he began, the word properly guttural and Germanic. He took the greatest care
to show his teeth. “You have taken these people captive.”

  Sally was blathering by then. “God,” he moaned, “it’s that guy Max kept talking about, the one that drank his blood!”

  “You don’t believe that crap, do you?” Vinnie asked his partner, but there was a distinct lack of conviction in his tone. Aidan was backing the two of them slowly across the tom linoleum floor.

  Senator Hargrove came out of his daze just long enough to mutter, “Who the hell is that?”

  Neely didn’t answer but instead glanced nervously toward the windows, then around the room, searching for a clock. If dawn happened to be imminent, the rescue would be spoiled, to say the least.

  Aidan tossed the riding crop aside when he was face to face with Vinnie and Sally, who were now cowering against the wall.

  Neely braced herself, suddenly terrified of what he might do. She loved Aidan Tremayne with her whole soul, but that would certainly change if she witnessed the true reality of vampirism.

  As if hearing her thoughts, Aidan looked back at her over one shoulder, favored her with a half-grin, and turned again to his prey. Raising both hands, he pressed a palm to either man’s face, and a strange energy seemed to move through his body, along his arms, and into the crooks.

  When Aidan drew back, graceful and cool, but visibly weakened, Vinnie and Sally glided to the floor, both staring stupidly at nothing.

  “What did you do to them?” Neely whispered. He hadn’t bitten their necks, but the night was still young. She hoped.

  Aidan turned, straightening his tunic. “Not much, really. They’re just taking a little nap—one that will last three or four weeks. They’ll remember you one day, it’s due, but given the recollection of tonight, they won’t be anxious to look you up to reminisce.”

  In the chair beside Neely’s, Senator Hargrove sat with his head lolling. He moaned something incoherent.

  Aidan untied Neely but regarded the senator with a pensive expression. “What about him?” he asked, frowning.

  Neely was rubbing her sore wrists and, at the same time, heading in the direction of the bathroom. She gave Vinnie and Sally a wide berth, even though they looked about as dangerous as a pair of carrots. “Don’t do anything till I get back,” she called to Aidan.

  When she returned, he was pacing.

  Ah, Neely thought whimsically, the vampire I love.

  “What’s with the Nazi threads?” she asked.

  Aidan shrugged, stopping his pacing to lay another thoughtful frown on the senator. “I had to wear something,” he answered distractedly, “and this was what came to hand. This is the infamous Senator Hargrove, is it not?”

  “You know who he is.” Neely sighed, folding her arms. “You’re psychic, along with all your other talents.”

  Aidan walked around the senator’s chair once, pondering the slumped figure. “He’s not all bad, you know,” he reflected, as though reading an in-depth dossier. “Just weak.”

  Neely nodded, then looked again toward the window. “Yes,” she agreed. She explained about Dallas Hargrove’s great, destructive love for Elaine. “On top of everything else,” she finished, “Mrs. Hargrove died tonight, and he wasn’t able to be with her. My guess is, he’s probably having the kind of breakdown a guy doesn’t come back from. So maybe he doesn’t need prison, too.”

  Aidan paused, silently considering, and Neely would have given anything to read his thoughts. Was he thirsty, for instance?

  “He’s gone,” the vampire said finally. “The senator has retreated so far inside himself that he may never find his way out.”

  “What if the prosecution needs him to testify?”

  Aidan untied Hargrove and draped the man’s inert frame over his shoulders, fireman-style. “Their tough luck, I guess.

  Come now, I’ll load your friend here into the van for you, but you’ll have to get yourself back to Washington because the sun will be up in about forty-five minutes.” He nodded toward Vinnie and Sally, who were still sitting on the floor, staring vacantly into the distance. “The fat one has the keys—they’re in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

  Neely approached the men gingerly, fully expecting them to jump at her, but they didn’t even seem to see her.

  “Even if you’re right, and they don’t come looking for me when their memories return, I still won’t be completely off the hook,” she said, fishing a key ring from the appointed pocket and withdrawing quickly. “I’ll still have to deal with their bosses, won’t I? Am I going to have to be part of the Witness Protection Program or something?”

  “Yes,” Aidan answered, hauling Senator Hargrove’s limp person toward the back door. “The Aidan Tremayne Witness Protection Program.” He looked very solemn for a moment. “Frankly, my love, these thugs are the least of our problems. They’re far easier to deal with, after all, than some other creatures abroad on this earth.”

  Neely rushed after him, but she didn’t offer a reply to his remark, though it had reminded her of the grim truth. She would probably have to give Aidan up one day soon, in order to protect him from the outraged indignation of his own kind, among others, but she wanted to pretend, for a little while at least, that it wasn’t so.

  Aidan gave her a wry look over one shoulder, turning so that he could see around the senator’s rear end. He’d obviously been reading her mind again. “Come, now,” he scolded gently. “You’re not going to give up so easily as all that, are you? Where’s that Yankee persistence I’ve heard so much about?”

  “I used up a lot of it tonight,” Neely answered, but she managed a smile.

  They trudged through the deep snow in the backyard, passing the clothesline and the leaning birdbath. The van was parked behind a looming, weathered shed.

  The snow had stopped, but there was no moon. Still, Neely could see Aidan as clearly as if he were giving off some inner light all his own. He put the senator in the back of the van, taking care not to hurt him, and closed the door.

  Aidan and Neely stood facing each other in the cold chill, Neely’s breath making a white cloud between them.

  “Thanks,” Neely said. Again she noticed that he seemed enervated, as though the evening’s events had been unusually taxing for him.

  Aidan leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Anytime,” he answered with tender irony. “Can you find your way back? You just follow this road west until it intersects with the main highway, then turn left. After that, there will be plenty of signs to point the way.”

  Neely started to speak, but her voice came out as a croak, and she had to begin again. “What about Senator Hargrove? What am I supposed to do with him, Aidan?”

  “Take him to the emergency room at the first hospital you see. He’ll be looked after.”

  Neely glanced toward the van. It had seemed so sinister before, but now she saw that it had a few dents in the fender and green fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. It looked, well, innocuous.

  “Is the senator going to be some kind of vegetable?”

  “I can’t answer that,” Aidan answered with a weary sigh. “I don’t think you’ll ever have anything to fear from him, though—my guess is, he never really wanted to see you harmed in the first place.”

  Neely recalled the times the senator had warned her, both directly and indirectly, and nodded in agreement. She would feel pity for him after that night but never fear. She worked up a faltering smile and jangled the keys. “I’ll be in Bright River, at my brother’s place,” she said. She wanted to ask if she was ever going to see Aidan after that night, but she was too afraid of the answer. ‘Thanks again.”

  Aidan lifted his hand in farewell. ‘Take care,” he said, and then he simply faded away, boots, swastika and all.

  Neely stared at the place where he’d stood until a moment before and wondered if she was in any better shape mentally than Vinnie and Sally and the senator. Then she climbed resolutely into the van, started up the engine, and ground the gearshift into reverse.

  Aidan ba
rely reached the sanctity of his lair behind the Bright River house before he collapsed. He slept sprawled on the dirt floor of the old mine shaft, and when he awakened, he was sick with weakness.

  He had been lying on his stomach, but when he sensed another presence, he rolled quickly onto his back.

  Tobias was crouching beside him, grinning his ancient, teenage grin. “You seem to be feeling poorly,” he observed. He ran his eyes over Aidan’s dusty tunic, cobweb-laced breeches, and smudged boots. “Can’t say I care much for your taste in clothes, old fellow.”

  Aidan struggled to raise himself to a sitting position, found that he could manage no more. If Tobias had come to destroy him—and he might well do just that, being an elder and therefore exceedingly powerful—then he, Aidan, was done for.

  “What do you want?”

  Tobias stood gracefully. His garments looked medieval—he wore leggings, a long tunic, and leather shoes that curled at the toes. “You didn’t think you were finished with the Brotherhood just because Roxanne Havermail carried you off to her castle, did you? Come, now, Aidan, this isn’t a fairy tale, and there may well be no happy ending.”

  “If you’re trying to be witty,” Aidan replied, groaning a little, “you’re only half successful. Get to the point.” Tobias laughed. “Such audacity. That, you know, is both your greatest blessing and your worst curse, Aidan. I suggest you curb the trait if you want the tribunal to decide in your favor.”

  Aidan got slowly to his feet, swayed, but was steadied by Tobias’s quick grasp on his shoulders. “What tribunal is this?”

  “You might say it’s the vampire version of the Supreme Court,” Tobias answered. “They’re interested in you and want to know what makes you tick, so to speak.”

  “Am I to be tried for some crime?” Aidan felt no fear, so none showed in his manner or his words. He was through running; he had to confront his personal demons and be done with it, for better or for worse.

  Tobias shrugged. “Not really, though the tribunal does want to determine firsthand whether or not you’re a threat to the rest of us. Suppose you turned traitor, for instance, and somehow made contact with Nemesis? We might all be destroyed then.”