by Adams, Nancy
Horace chuckled, and nodded at her. “She’s got it, then,” he said. “Find us a motel, one with the doors on the outside. We can get rooms, and then go find us some drink.”
I drove on into the town of Claymore, Utah, and pulled up at a decent-looking motel called the Claymore Willows. I suppose it got its name from the willow trees that were all around it, but I’d bet a dollar they weren’t native; nowhere else around there did I see any willows, except on the grounds of the motel. Oh, well.
Horace had come up with a substantial amount of money, which I learned later was stolen—but it’s not like I was in any position to go all moral on him, right? He got three rooms; I got one in my own name, and we all went to mine to work out the details of the night’s adventures.
“Since you don’t need to hunt, Amber,” Horace said, “you can relax here, or go out and have some fun if you wish. Mad and Jen, you’ll take one room, Rudy can have another, and I’ll take the last. Simone, you usually let your men take you home, are you going with that tonight?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yeh. It works good, and then I’ll come back and stay with Amber tonight.”
Horace looked at me to see if I was okay with that, and I smiled. “We’ll watch TV all night,” I said, and Simone giggled.
“All right, then,” he went on. “Let’s all meet back here early on, say about four; we’ll be hitting Cali tomorrow, and we’ve got to make some arrangements once we get there. Everybody good?”
They all nodded and said they were, so a moment later everyone was gone but Simone. She looked at me, and said, “Hey, ducklin, if ya need me to stay with ya, I can—I won’t go to pieces over missin’ one night o’ feedin’.”
I smiled, because it was sweet of her to offer to stay and help me get through my emotional turmoil, but I didn’t want to risk her getting overly thirsty. “I’m fine, Sweetie,” I said, and hugged her. “You go find you some blood. Have some fun.”
She got a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, it’s always fun!” she said. “Wanna come with?”
I thought about it for a moment and agreed, and we walked out of the room together, locking the door behind us. There were several restaurants nearby, and we started toward one down the street, but suddenly Simone pulled my hand and said, “Oh, look!” I looked, and there at the end of a side street was what looked like a small bar. “I want a drink,” she said, and I followed her to it, digging out the “Katherine” ID as we walked.
I didn’t need it. There was no bouncer, and the bartender didn’t seem to care how old we were, as long as we were spending money. Considering that Simone looked even younger than me, I guessed that this was one of those places that would have served us if we’d come in wearing diapers!
There were several people there, including a few of my favorite vampires; Jen and Mad were at a table with two men, and Horace was at another, making a slightly intoxicated woman giggle like a seventh-grader. He noticed us, as did the women, but didn’t acknowledge us. We went to the bar and climbed up on stools.
I ordered a rum and Coke, Simone got a screwdriver, again, and we sat there pretending we weren’t looking for a man. We didn’t have to pretend for long, because a man spotted us right away.
He was about fifty or so, and not bad looking for his age. He watched us for several minutes, then walked over and asked me to dance.
I glanced at Simone, and she smiled at him. “Nah, nah,” she said, “ya gotta dance with both of us!”
He smiled. “Why, I’d be delighted, ladies,” he said, and we followed him to the little section that was supposed to be a dance floor; I think my closet back home was bigger, but it would do. Someone put a quarter in the jukebox, which had records in it that might have been older than I was, and it started playing an old Three Dog Night song called “Eli’s Coming”. The song started out slow, and then got faster, and when the beat got good Simone and I put our guy in between us and basically danced with each other. We rubbed up against him, and she made sure he got to grab a feel; he was having a good time, and shortly Simone, who was in front, had something to rub up against!
On the next song, I begged off and went to find an empty table. The two of them danced through the song, then joined me.
“What’s your name?” Simone asked our friend.
“I’m Carl,” he said, “Carl Hager. What’s yours?”
“I’m Simone,” she said, “and this is Amber. Are ya lookin’ for some fun tonight, Carl Hager? ‘Cause I like to get a little naughty, sometimes.”
I almost spilled my drink, but managed to keep it together. Simone waved a hand. “Don’t mind her, she thinks I’m a tart!” she said, and Carl laughed, and a moment later I laughed along.
We sat there and had another drink, and Simone made it clear that she intended for him to have a good time. “But sometimes,” she said, “me, I gets a bit overexcited and I likes to nibble a little—ya won’t mind that, will ya?”
Carl kept smiling, but finally he asked the question I’d have expected a lot sooner. “Simone, um—just outa curiosity—how old are you?”
Simone gave him a wicked smile, and pulled his ear close to her lips. “I might be eighteen,” she said, “or could be I’m not—how old would ya want me to be?”
He smiled again, and I could tell her tease was exciting him. She glanced at me, then whispered into his ear again. “You won’t tell on me, will you? I mean, for bein’ so young? And don’t worry, I know how to keep a secret!”
He moved to whisper into her own ear, as if he didn’t want me to hear what he was about to say, but of course, I could hear it as if it were my own ear he was whispering in to.
“Simone, how young are you, baby? And if you know how to keep secrets, well...”
She winked at me. “Long as you won’t tell,” she said. “I know I look a little older, but I’m only sixteen...”
I thought Carl was going to fall apart right then and there, but he managed to hold out ‘til Simone said she was ready to go. I walked with them back to the motel, then went to my room while Carl got one for the two of them.
Chapter Seventeen
Amber
Simone came in a couple of hours later. I had turned on the TV while I waited, but the only thing on was old movies. We watched an old one with the Marx Brothers (Simone pointed at Groucho and said, “I met him once!"), and started another one with John Wayne, but then there was a knock on the door and Rudy came in. Mad and Jen followed a few minutes later, and Horace a few minutes after them. We all sat on the beds, and Horace started talking.
“All right, Amber,” he said, and I paid attention. “I’ve been thinking about where to go, and I think we should go on to L.A. again. One of my identities is a very wealthy but incredibly eccentric Englishman who owns some business and investment property scattered around there, and we can move right into one of my houses. What we’ll do is this: I’ve written a letter for you to take to the attorney who handles my affairs. He’ll know it’s from me, because it contains a code he’s been given. It will introduce you as my new personal assistant, and instruct him to take you and let you look at my houses. You will choose one for us to live in, and he will give you the keys and set up a bank account for you to use in taking care of matters for me. I’ll contact him after I arrive a few days later. And oh, incidentally, the letter also instructs him to put you on my payroll at a rather generous salary; no doubt he’ll think I hired you mainly for your looks, but who gives a fig what a lawyer thinks, eh?”
I blushed, but I laughed along with the rest of them.
“Most of the houses there I bought sight unseen, but I always saw a prospectus on each. They’re all large houses, with numerous bedrooms, and most of them have some staff about; butlers, maids, cooks, that sort. To not have them would be suspicious, so it will be up to you to make sure they know just how eccentric your silly employer and his friends are, how they go absolutely starkers if they get awakened during the day, and demand that their rooms be cleaned at night, all that rot
. And if you don’t think they can be trusted to keep quiet—some of them are bright enough to figure out what we are, but good professional domestics would keep their mouths shut and just be sure to stay on our good sides—then get rid of them and hire others.”
He went on for a bit about how the lawyer would get all their other identities and bank accounts and such ready for them while waiting for them to “get there,” and we all chatted about things like curtains in their bedrooms, and such. Finally, Horace told the vampires they could each get their rooms redecorated any bloody way they liked, after we got moved in. I was glad; I could get along with all of them, but I’d never gotten over the feeling that Madeline didn’t like me much, and didn’t want me around. I was sure that I’d never manage to get her room done to her satisfaction.
By that time, it was within a half hour of sunrise, so we all checked out and got into the van. I had gassed it up the evening before, so we hit the road, and the miles rolled away underneath us all day. By the time I got us back on the interstate, the breathing sounds in back went silent.
I did a lot more thinking as I drove, and let myself go over the things that had kept me so upset the day before. Yes, I still knew that my victims would sometimes have families who would be affected by my choices, but I had come to realize that I was just another of many, many ways a man could die. If that man I’d eaten last had died in a legitimate car wreck, it would still be sad, and his family would still suffer. I decided to stick to my old Baptist beliefs that you died when God called you home, and it didn’t really matter how.
Yeah, yeah, I know—self-justification, on steroids! Shut up.
The point was that I knew I wasn’t going to stop feeding. I wasn’t going to ask Horace to destroy me. I was going to go right on being what I was—a monster that preyed on human beings.
By the time the sun was down that evening, and the vampires came back to life, we were nearing Los Angeles and I didn’t object when Horace wanted to drive. He slid in behind the wheel as I slid out, without even slowing us down, and I took the shotgun seat. Simone was back on the floor, and she popped up to kiss my cheek, then settled back down. I heard Rudy give a low whistle, and Jen said jokingly, “Hey, you two, I’m gonna get jealous!” Madeline smiled at our playfulness, but there was still that something in it that I didn’t like. I smiled back, though, when I saw it.
“Don’t mind Jen,” Horace said. “If there’s one thing immortality cures, it’s any tendency at all to jealousy! And especially for our kind, because almost all of us use sex as bait. Wouldn’t do of us to get jealous, when we know we’re all gonna be lookin’ for love every night, eh?”
I wanted to tell him that I thought Madeline didn’t like me, but I knew she’d hear even the faintest whisper, so I held back. Simone leaned on me and reached up to hold my hand. It reminded me of the way my sisters liked to hold my hand as we played games or watched TV.
Horace drove us into one of the northern suburbs of L.A. and found us a nice hotel. He got us rooms—Simone and I shared one, again—and then the vampires went out hunting. Simone didn’t fuss when I said I didn’t want to go along that night, and she went out on her own a few minutes later. I almost worried about her, she was so petite and sweet looking—she really could pass for fifteen, though she insisted she’d been twenty when she’d been turned. Then I remembered that she was also a monster, and I relaxed. I didn’t need to wait up for her, even though I wouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I got out my book and finished reading about Salem’s Lot.
(Incidentally, no offense to Mr. King, I still love reading his books, but by that time I could have told him some things about vampires...)
The vampires were all back in their rooms by five AM, and there were Do Not Disturb signs on all the doors. That included mine, since Simone would be sleeping there all day while I took care of business. She’d sat on the bed and watched some TV, and when her breathing went silent I knew she was gone for the day.
I showered and put on a nice dressy-but-businesslike outfit (black knee-length skirt, cream blouse and matching black blazer, with tan pantyhose and some nice sandals that had two-inch heels), then sat and watched television until I figured it was time for business hours. At a little after eight, I slipped out and went to the van. Horace had shown me a map of the whole Greater L.A. region and given me very precise directions. With my new photographic memory, I was at his attorney’s office in Pacific Palisades less than an hour later. I parked in the front visitor’s lot, and went into the building.
I was looking for Chalmers, Witt, Porter and Mining; that was the name of the firm that the attorney worked for. They were on nine, and I pushed the button for the elevator, and then stepped inside when it opened and pressed the button for the ninth floor. A nice-looking man in a business suit stepped on just after I did, and also pressed nine; we played the “I’m not looking at you” game all the way up, but when the door opened, he bowed me through ahead of him.
I tried to give him something to remember, since I could tell he was looking at my legs. I figured it must have worked because he followed me right into Chalmers, Witt, etc.
The receptionist saw me and smiled. “Good morning,” she said. “How can we help you?”
“I’m looking for a Mr. Michaels,” I said, and the receptionist glanced to my left. I turned my head, and the man who’d ridden up with me extended a hand and said, “I’m Greg Michaels.”
I smiled and shook his hand, and said, “I’m Amber Fair, Mr. Michaels, personal assistant to Horace St. John. He sent me to you to arrange for one of his houses to be opened for him to occupy.”
The nice-looking man seemed surprised, but he kept his smile, and asked me to follow him to his office. “Rebecca,” he said to the receptionist, “no calls ‘til further notice, please.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied crisply, and I followed him as he’d asked. We went down a long hallway and into a nice corner office.
He invited me to have a seat in a chair in front of his desk, and then took his own. I declined coffee or a soft drink, and he got down to business.
“Miss Fair—it is Miss, am I right?—Miss Fair, I have not heard from Mr. St. John for several months, and he usually calls me by telephone. Do you have any way to prove that you’re working for him?”
I smiled. “Mr. St. John gave me a letter to give to you, Mr. Michaels,” I reached into my purse, retrieved it and handed it over. He opened it with a beautifully carved letter opener made of what I thought was jade, and began to read.
It took him about five minutes, and then his eyebrows went up.
“Well, well,” he said. “This letter contains a code that Mr. St. John and I worked out together almost three years ago. Unless you’ve kidnapped him and tortured it out of him, I have to believe that this is genuine. You, er—didn’t torture it out of him, did you?”
I laughed. “Only with the salary he complains about paying me,” I said. “He’ll be arriving sometime in the next few days—you know how strange he is, don’t you? Never telling anyone how he’s traveling, or exactly when he’ll show up?—and he wanted me to choose a house for him and make sure its staff is ready for his arrival. And of course, he’s bringing friends.”
Mr. Michaels smiled, assuring me that he did indeed know how eccentric my new boss was. He excused himself then, and was gone for a few minutes. When he returned, he had several large envelopes in his hands, and he began talking before he got to his desk.
“Miss Fair—”
“Please,” I said, “call me Amber. Everyone does, and I expect we’ll be seeing each other now and then.” Okay, I was hoping…
He smiled wider. “Good, Amber, and I’m Greg. Anyway, Mr. St. John has four houses that are not currently leased. I’ve pulled their files, so we can go over them together. If you’d join me at the table?” He indicated a table with six chairs, near the wall, and I stood and followed him again.
When we were seated at one side of the table, he opened the first file and sho
wed me several eight-by-ten photos of a beautiful house. I was almost speechless; Horace had said he owned some large houses, but he hadn’t said they were mansions! The house in these photos looked like it should be a summer palace for some King or Queen.
There were dozens of pictures, of both the interior and exterior of the place. I saw a dining room, a ballroom, a library, a built-in movie theater, a kitchen that was bigger than the entire Kewpee Cafe, and I couldn’t even count the bedrooms (okay, there were eleven of them, and each with its own full bathroom!). There were several buildings on the property, including what amounted to a pair of small apartment buildings where the servants lived, a huge garage that could hold dozens of cars, and several others that I didn’t know what they were for.
Greg noticed that I seemed overwhelmed, and he smiled. I let him see me trying to regain my composure, but made it clear that I was out of my depth. Horace should have given me better warning about this stuff.
“Okay,” I said. “Look, Mr. Michaels—“
“Ah-ah—Greg, remember?”
“Okay, then, Greg—a few days ago I was just a farm girl from Illinois. I met Mr. St. John through a mutual acquaintance who knew I was planning to come out here and take a shot at Hollywood, and he said he needed an assistant to do things like this, and would pay me more money than I could make about anywhere else. It was a dream chance for a girl like me, but now I’m thinking I might be in over my head. I don’t know anything about houses like these, or how to pick one, or how to talk to the staff.” I let myself slump a bit, as if the weight of the world was crashing down on me. “What do I do now?”
He was still smiling. “Well—Amber—how about this? What if I take the rest of the day out of the office, and take you around to look at the houses. I can introduce you to the staff, and help you get to know them a bit, and maybe between us we can come to a reasonable choice as to which one might best please your boss? Would that work for you?”
I gave him my best “my hero!” smile, and he took the bait, hook, line and sinker! “Oh, Greg,” I said happily, “I don’t know how to thank you!"