by Jeanne Rose
“Uh, huh.” Adriana stared at the snapshots, all of which seemed to be of her in a purple scarf and dress poised against a backdrop of club crowd. A couple of the photos also included Stone, one with his face turned away from the camera. “So?”
“I took these last night.” Irina pointed. “He isn’t in any of them.”
“Are you talking about Val?” Adriana faintly remembered the sudden flashes from the camera now.
“Of course I’m talking about Val.” Irina looked disgusted. He was there but he’s not in the pictures, is he? And I can guarantee you he wouldn’t appear in any mirror, either.”
Adriana frowned at such wild theory. “What are you trying to say? First, he has no aura and now–”
”He’s probably not even alive.”
Not alive? Too much. Adriana shook her head. “Come on. I admit these were probably taken last night.” When she’d worn the purple outfit. “But you must have clicked the button when Val stepped away or something. I’ve never heard of a person who couldn’t be photographed.”
“Well, you’re hearing of one now.” Irina lowered her voice yet another notch. “I think he’s undead, Adriana.”
Undead? “Come on,” she muttered again, wondering if Irina had flipped. “Val takes photographs himself. He’s an unusual person, I admit.”
”Look at this!” the gypsy interrupted with a hiss, stabbing one of the photos with her fingernail. “Look closer. You’re talking to someone but there’s no one there.”
Adriana leaned closer, squinting. She conceded she did seem to be talking in the snapshot at issue, but Val must have been out of range. For no particular reason, she also noticed a big scruffy-looking guy staring at her from the background.
“I’ve been talking to my Aunt Ludmilla,” Irina was going on breathlessly. “She’s found out who the Kadars are. They come from an isolated corner of northeastern Hungary, from the foothills of the Carpathians. And they have a long and violent history.”
Adriana thought about her conversation with Val the night of Eddie’s services. “Most Eastern European countries have a long and violent history. There were always invasions.”
“Though none touched the realm of the Kadars. Not the Mongols or the Turks. Not anybody. Want to know why?”
“I expect you intend to tell me.”
Irina’s eyes flashed with temper, but she seemed intent on controlling it. “You’re not taking this seriously. And you should. You’re in mortal danger.” She leaned closer to stare at Adriana. “Look at you. Your skin is chalk white and there’s circles under your eyes.”
“I’m wearing black . . . and not much makeup.” Not to mention that she was frazzled, not having slept well.
“Your condition comes from more than a lack of makeup – what have you been doing with him?”
Adriana’s heart fluttered a little, recalling the night of passion she and Val had spent together. She had been tired and dizzy the next morning. But Val was supposed to be . . . undead? She couldn’t utter the word.
She cleared her throat. “Are you inferring that Val’s a vampire?” First the anonymous caller, now her own friend. Even in her weird state of mind, Adriana was beginning to feel angry. “That’s a ridiculous premise. I’ve always been lukewarm about the supernatural. And I’m certainly not willing to invest myself in something so outrageous as believing there are undead people who drink blood.” She managed a half-hearted laugh and attempted sarcastic humor. “Good grief, Val doesn’t even wear a cape. And he doesn’t sleep in a dirt-lined coffin, either. I’ve been to his house.”
If she expected Irina to argue, she was surprised.
Instead, the redhead heaved a big sigh. “Just listen, will you? Let me tell you about the Kadars.” Adriana giving her the nod, she continued, “In the thirteenth century, when the Mongols rode into Hungary from Asia, they laid waste to everything before them. There was a Magyar nobleman . . . a prince, a duke . . . I don’t know what they called them then . . . who was willing to do anything to save his realm. Supposedly, he made a pact with the devil himself.”
“And the nobleman was a Kadar?”
“The Kadar. Eventually, the pact included his whole family. When enemies approached, camping out on the plains below the Kadar’s castle and walled town – a little place called Kisvarka – they were attacked in the black of night by beings they believed to be demons . . . a dark horde with glowing eyes mounted on horses whose nostrils steamed with the smoke of hell. In the morning, bodies littered the camp grounds. Not one drop of blood was left in them, not one bone remained unbroken. Most of them were headless. Needless to say, the next wave of warriors retreated, strewing salt behind them.”
Adriana couldn’t help remarking dryly, “Good tale.”
“The same story was repeated by the Turks in the sixteenth century,” Irina insisted, “and by several units of Nazis in World War II – though German commanders gave more logical excuses, something about tainted water killing a bunch of soldiers and the town not offering any real threat. Regardless of the reasons, the Kadar’s land was never overrun. Kisvarka is the only Hungarian town that was never damaged by sword or gunfire. It has the country’s only intact medieval church.”
Mongols. Turks. Nazis. Adriana wasn’t sure how to react. Again, she thought about Val’s discussion of invasions, his mentioning something about the strong measures his domain had had to take. But her modern mind simply couldn’t accept such wild and crazy ideas.
Finally, she said lamely, “A nice church, huh? That’s an odd outcome for a pact with the devil.”
“The 13th century priests of Kisvarka were excommunicated for accepting the Kadar’s unholy pact, for looking the other way,” said Irina. “As well they should have been. The Kadar might be considered a hero by his own people but vampires are horrible monsters, predators, murderers who prey on their own kind.”
Murderers. Real monsters. Adriana knew they existed but she couldn’t believe that any of them were vampires.
Irina believed in vampires, however, and the redhead doubtlessly thought she was trying to be of help. Not wanting to hurt her friend, wishing she could sidestep the ludicrous issue, Adriana stared at the photos again, noticing that the big scruffy man appeared in a second snapshot, too. Dressed in a cheap polyester suit, he seemed out of place in the club scene and his heavy brows were drawn into a mean-looking expression.
“Did I hear someone mention vampires?” Meggie waltzed over, having finished showing bangle bracelets to some customers. She giggled, obviously thinking the other two women had been joking. “I don’t have any garlic necklaces, but I have some earrings made of real roses.” She opened a small box, revealing unusual post earrings formed of layers of deep red petals. “Vampires aren’t supposed to like this kind of flower, you know.”
“They aren’t?” Adriana knit her brows. Hadn’t Val said he was allergic to roses . . .
Irina interrogated Meggie, “How did you hear about the power of the rose?”
“There’s a lot of vampire books out now,” said the jewelry-seller. “Even romances with vampire heroes. I read a lot.” But she obviously wanted to sell her wares. She picked up one of the red earrings. “See? The petals have been coated with liquid resin and glued to a paper mache base. Aren’t they cool?”
Adriana took the earring, admiring the design.
Irina merely frowned. “It’s more likely to be the odor of the rose that bothers vampires. The flower should be newly cut, or, even better, alive. In Romania, they used to plant rose bushes on the graves of people they suspected might rise and walk after dark.”
Continuing to feel uncomfortable with the conversation, Adriana desperately searched for a way out. “Still, roses might a good hedge against vampires. They probably don’t like the flower in any condition.” That statement of faith should surely comfort Irina. She reached into the little purse she always slung about her shoulders at work. “How much are these earrings, Meggie? I feel like wearing them tonight.”
After the jewelry-seller had made change and flitted off to talk to another customer, Irina put in a last warning word, “Watch out for Kadar, Adriana. He seeks to enthrall you, to make you his own. He’s probably lonely after all these centuries.” She added, “But he’s also hungry. He’s the one who killed Eddie and merely paid for the services to impress you.”
Now that was enough. “There were no bite marks on Eddie’s throat. His blood was drained by some type of equipment, not a vampire.”
“Is that what the brute told you?”
“That’s what the police say. But the information is confidential. Don’t tell anyone else.” Adriana wasn’t about to bring up the second murder or that she questioned Val’s innocence herself. Irina rarely listened to the news or read papers, so it should be easy enough to get her off the trail. “I appreciate your advice but you don’t have to worry about me and Val. We broke up last night.”
The redhead’s eyes widened. “He allowed you to do that?”
Adriana fought irritation, then the intense sadness that swept over her every time she thought about sending Val away. “He doesn’t have to grant me the right for anything, Irina. I can do what I want. I’ll probably never see Valentin Kadar again.”
Until . . . if she decided to end the estrangement.
Or unless she found herself in the type of danger that Val would “sense” and take it upon himself to appear. But then, by claiming he could do such a thing, it only proved he might be crazy, whether or not in a dangerous way.
MIKLOS RAKOSI FEARED Stone Drake might be too sly and weak to deal with real danger. Yet the young man needed money and, since he worked with Adriana Thorn and knew her so well, he seemed the best person to keep an eye on Kadar’s mistress. Rakosi had approached Drake the evening before, after overhearing the interesting conversation between Drake and Adriana.
He fingered the medallion hanging about his neck with a little smile, once more appreciating the powers it gave him, like a heightened sense of hearing. Not to mention the ability to avoid detection beneath Kadar’s very nose.
Unfortunately, the medallion’s protection was limited if Rakosi faced Kadar in a one-to-one confrontation. That’s why he’d been trying to attack his enemy in indirect ways.
But if the phone calls to the police continued to fail, Rakosi would not hesitate to use Adriana. A little after midnight, the second night in a row, he dropped by After Dark to talk to Drake, a henchman in tow. Though Weasel had been getting on his nerves of late, always whining.
They found the bouncer surveying the dance floor.
“Did you follow Adriana Thorn home last night?” Rakosi asked.
Drake eyed the two men, unsmiling. “Yeah, she took a taxi and went right inside.” He added, “I had to take a taxi, too. Kind of expensive. Do I get extra compensation for that sort of thing?”
Money, money, money. With far more at stake, Rakosi could not help reacting impatiently to such obvious greed. “You are being paid quite adequately, especially considering you have not really been asked to do anything.”
“You said I was supposed to keep an eye on Adriana.”
“And do whatever else I ask, as well. If the occasion arises, you may have to seize the woman and bring her to me.”
“Seize her?” Drake frowned. “What do you plan to do to her?”
“That is not your problem.” Rakosi could see the weakness surfacing in the young man again. Attempting to use another frailty to counteract it, he pulled out his wallet to remove several bills. “Here, take the extra compensation you
demand . . . there will be much more to come. Though you will do as I order when I say so.”
Drake grabbed the money but looked none too happy. Again Rakosi felt doubt surface, wondering if he had made a mistake. If so, Drake would be the one to suffer.
At that same moment, a low ringing erupted from Rakosi’s jacket pocket and he cursed in Hungarian. He moved off to a corner for privacy so he could answer his small, cellular phone. When he could understand the hysterical words flung at him so swiftly, when he realized that Kadar had visited the crap game, he was appalled. He hung up, knowing he had to move The Buckthorn immediately. The boat was docked far too near the invaded warehouse, mere blocks away. He didn’t want to lose his entire center of operations, his home.
He went outside, looking for his car.
“Hey, boss,” said Weasel, nearly running to keep up with Rakosi’s longer strides. “If you want something done to that woman, I’m your man. You don’t need some bozo like that bouncer. He ain’t got any nerve.”
“I am not worried about the woman at the moment.” He was concerned for his own skin. “There is trouble to deal with.”
But Weasel paid no attention, whining on, “I could use some extra money myself.”
The dolt was desperate, had lost too much at playing craps himself. But Rakosi wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone else’s problems. “I have no time for this.”
“Listen, I’ll undercut the guy.” Weasel’s beady eyes glittered in his narrow face. “How much are you paying him? I’ll do it for less.”
“Shut up!” At the end of his patience, Rakosi finally turned to strike the man, only to have Weasel skitter backward as fast as the stinking, slippery little animal for which he was named. He obviously knew Rakosi’s great strength could cripple him with one blow. “Bah! Stay here then, if you cannot behave.”
Furious as well as nervous, Rakosi slid into the car and took off, leaving Weasel to fend for himself.
ADRIANA GOT THROUGH the rest of the night at After Dark by losing herself in music. She played a haunting mix of rock and melodic jazz, danceable most of the time, except for short parts that faded into the sound of the wind blowing through a dark forest.
She felt as if she were wandering through a forest herself. Alone. She couldn’t talk to Irina and she didn’t want to talk to Frank. She didn’t feel like walking about and striking up conversations with customers.
And she wanted to avoid Stone Drake at all costs. Again, though, her ex-boyfriend kept his distance. He didn’t even approach her when she left the place around three-thirty.
Conveniently for once, a taxi waited right outside the club. The driver perked up as soon as he saw her, reaching behind him to open the door invitingly. “Where to?”
Adriana gave him the address and settled back as the vehicle took off. As they headed down Chicago Avenue, which would soon pass the little park and the Water Tower, she thought of the first night she and Val had met, the first time he’d kissed her. No, she corrected herself, that was the time she’d imagined him kissing her . . .
Intent on her thoughts, she nevertheless noticed when the driver made a swift turn down a side street. “Hey, I said Oak Street. That’s north of here, not south.”
Beady eyes stared at her in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, lady. I know where I’m going.”
Something was very wrong. Glancing at the I.D. above the taxi’s meter – which wasn’t running – Adriana saw that the visage in the photo didn’t match this narrow-faced driver’s. Panicking, she grabbed the door handle. “Let me out of here.”
Which caused the driver to brake so hard, she nearly fell to the floor. With a swift, hard backhand, he smacked her in the face. She sank down in the seat, seeing stars.
As she half-lay there, he put the car in park and ripped off her dark scarf to tie her wrists. “Now are you gonna come quietly or do I have to stuff your mouth, too?”
She could only murmur something unintelligible.
“That’s a good girl.” But he was talking mainly to himself. “Soon as the boss sees I’ve got Kadar’s little honey, I’ll be back on his good side. And make some money to boot.”
He put the taxi into gear again and peeled out.
Kadar’s little honey? Boss?
Did the driver work for the mysterious enemy of Val’s? The man who’d been making the phone calls, who’d no doubt killed Eddie and Lilly? Wou
ld he now kill her? How ironic – after Val had told her she should take taxis for safety’s sake.
She only wished Val could suddenly appear, because she certainly was in danger.
As the taxi careened around a corner, Adriana managed to hoist herself into an upright position, just in time to see the vehicle head straight for a pedestrian stepping out of the shadows.
She cried out and the driver yelled as the taxi came to a jarring halt. Adriana was thrown forward, then backward, then sideways. She rolled onto the floor.
Metal crunched and squealed as if being torn.
The driver screamed, “Ya-ah!” And screamed yet again as an animal snarled.
Snarling? What in the world? Heart pounding, more frightened than ever, Adriana dragged herself to a sitting position. The left front door lay on the pavement near the driver. Someone tall was bending over his body.
Adriana blinked, certain she recognized the set of those proud shoulders. “V-val?”
He came to the car immediately, opened the passenger door and saw her disheveled state. “What has happened? What has this man done to you?”
“He tried to pull off a kidnapping.” She held up her wrists and he tore the scarf away, then helped her out and onto her feet. “Is he dead?”
“Only unconscious.”
She leaned against him, shaky. “W-what are you doing here anyway?” Had he actually sensed her danger?
“I was on my way to the club. I knew you would probably not wish to speak to me but I wanted to be near you, even if it could only be from a distance.”
Luckily for her, Val hadn’t given up so easily.
He glared at the fallen driver. “This fool nearly ran over me.”
“There wasn’t a collision?” She hadn’t heard a thud. “He didn’t hit you?”
“He hit his own head . . . against the windshield as he came to a screeching stop.”
“And the door?”