Dee rested her chin on her hands as she pulled up the files she’d saved earlier. It had struck her the first time she’d been through the multiple pages, and the second time around didn’t clear it up any more. How could it be right? She didn’t particularly believe in conspiracy theories, yet this sure felt like that’s exactly what it was. And it was exactly the thing that made her crave time to work.
Her Marla Watty detective series had started out pretty fun to write, and she’d made some great friends in the local law-enforcement community who had helped her keep realism in the work. What she’d come across as she researched for her new novel was outside her norm by a long stretch. She was working on what she thought of as a paranormal book and, more specifically, a vampire book. She’d always wanted to do something along those lines, being a big fan of the nineteenth-century vampire stories Carmilla and Dracula. Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu,and Bram Stoker had captured her imagination the first time she read their works. Then the success of the Marla series had swept her life away, and she hadn’t been able to get back to the germ of an idea that had been percolating since the first time she seriously considered becoming a writer.
The moment had come to take the idea and make it a reality. She couldn’t turn away even if she wanted to. Of course, she didn’t intend to do that. She’d waited too long to do this.
She was puzzled too. She was coming up against the strangest things as she researched. Typically she used historical information to craft the heart of a story. Yes, it was fiction, but she wanted her fiction to feel real, which meant doing her homework before she began to write. In her mind the best fiction started with a solid base of reality.
Writing a vampire story was counterintuitive to her normal starting point. After all, vampires were strictly an invention of folklore and fiction. Granted, folklore often had its birth in reality, but from what she’d learned thus far, vampire legends were rooted in misunderstandings of the decomposition of human remains and premature burial. The former made perfect sense to her. The latter gave her the creeps. Really, how did one accidentally bury someone who was still alive? Yet she came across the situation again and again in her research. Apparently it wasn’t as difficult as she thought. She shivered, grateful she lived in an era of great scientific knowledge.
The misinterpretations at the root of vampire lore weren’t what was bothering her right now. The rest of what she’d stumbled on had her scratching her head. It had all started with a single name, and no, it wasn’t Vlad Dracula. It was a Hungarian nobleman named Imre Thurzo, born in 1598. Nothing too unusual about him except that he was noted to be the last male member of his family, and he reportedly died in 1621 at the ripe old age of twenty-three. Again, no biggie, given the times. People often died at tragically young ages. Many family lines petered out when the male heirs were unable to produce offspring.
So, why did Imre catch her attention? Easy. The deeper she dug, the more he kept popping up. In 1708, in 1845, in 1927, and most recently, in 2016. Had to be a relative, right? The historical data that pegged him as the last of his family lineage had to be wrong, and he’d left some descendants out there somewhere. That’s what she thought until she dug and found his likeness again and again. The guy obviously loved himself, because she found at least a dozen images, and each and every one of them showed exactly the same face. Different clothes and hairstyles, same face. Same smile that, to her mind, suggested a bit of narcissism. Something about his expression sent a chill through her. This guy liked himself way more than the average mirror-loving pretty boy.
Now she wanted to know more. Dee loved the search engines available to her these days, including the services she paid for that gave her access to more in-depth information, and she continued her archeological dig. She’d already saved what she’d found so far, and it was like a treasure map leading to a fascinating mystery. Imre was her starting point, and he sparked her imagination even more than it already was. She could picture him, with his blue eyes and arrogant smirk, as the perfect vampire. The man of royal birth who became an immortal. Yes, this was exactly the kind of thing that got her blood pumping and her mind working furiously. A novel was almost writing itself inside her head.
The discovery of the improbable immortal Imre led her to the model for her next character. This time it was a woman named Katrina Petrin. Like Imre, she appeared to have been around far longer than was possible for a human. The first mention of her name came up in 1766, then six or seven more times all the way up to and through the twentieth century. Like with Imre, her first inclination was to believe that the subsequent mentions were of Katrina’s family members. Also like Imre, the images weren’t just similar; they were identical. Her gut told her that they were relatives while her eyes insisted they were the same person.
She tried to discover if anything linked the two anomalies, and nothing did, at least that she could find, except that they came from adjoining geographic regions. She kept thinking that if they had truly been alive all that time, surely they would know of each other. Then again, in totality it was pretty crazy, so maybe she was just making up what she wanted to see. Writing the story the way she wanted it to go. Wasn’t that a writer’s prerogative?
By the time darkness blanketed the house, her office was lit only by the glow of her laptop screen. The words flowing across her screen were too engrossing for her to even bother to reach up to turn on the desk lamp. She kept her head bent, her fingers flying over the keys, but couldn’t run the queries as fast as she wished. Once she figured out where to dig, she found a gold mine.
Ignoring the lights was one thing, but her back was another, and it was telling her or perhaps more accurately was screaming at her that enough was enough. When she tried to sit up in her chair, her shoulders remained drawn together, and her back arched forward like she was a crippled-up hundred-year-old instead of not quite forty, with a straight spine and shoulders. Her physical-therapy friend would kick her butt for sitting all hunched over a keyboard for God only knows how long. She’d neglect to tell her that the next time they hung out. By then she might actually be able to straighten up again.
When the sharp pains faded, Dee reached out and flipped on the desk light. It was like suddenly being hit by the stereotypical interrogation spotlight. First she’d had needles in her back and shoulders, and now she had needles in her eyes. If this happened at almost forty, she could hardly wait to see what the next few decades held.
It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, she glanced over at the clock. Then she snapped her gaze down to her computer and the tiny clock in the right-hand corner of the taskbar. Wow. Where had the time gone? She’d sat down here at a little past two, and it was now a quarter of eight. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten so wrapped up in her work that she completely lost track of time. The one thing it told her was that she was on the right path. It was the kind of thing that made her mind whirl, and it had been a long time since she’d felt this way.
Most of what she’d dug up was in digital files on her laptop, but she’d found at least twenty pages of information intriguing enough to go old school and print out. Now that she was shaking out the kinks, she realized she was starving. There had to be something to eat in the kitchen, and she could peruse the stuff she’d printed while she chowed down. Old school had its uses. Besides, she was on a roll and saw no sense in quitting now.
She grabbed the pages from the printer, turned off the desk light, and headed toward the kitchen, flipping on overhead lights as she went. It was a little weird to do that, yet for some reason she was compelled to have lots of light. Brought back memories of childhood when she was scared of the dark. A little laugh escaped her lips as she hit yet another light switch.
In the kitchen, she laid the sheets on the island and pulled open the refrigerator door. A pathetic sight greeted her. The shelves were nearly empty of any food of substance, while the door held six bottles of really good beer and a nice, unopened bottle o
f pinot. Yeah, if she didn’t get this thing filled up with something decent to eat, AA would be knocking on her door.
But what the heck. Since her choices were slim, she grabbed one of the bottles of beer and the two sharp-cheddar cheese sticks that remained from a family-sized bag. Seriously, one couldn’t go wrong with cheese and beer, right? She snagged her papers and headed out of the kitchen without turning off the lights.
In the living room, she sat down on the power sofa and pushed the button to bring up the footrest. She clicked on the television, not because she felt like watching it but because it was great white noise. She opened the beer, peeled the plastic off the cheese sticks, and began to nibble as she started to read. This was some seriously interesting shit. The research, not the food.
She’d finished both cheese sticks and most of the beer when her head came up. It sure sounded like someone had pulled into her driveway, which was unusual given that her house was at the rear of a two-acre parcel. If people used her driveway to turn around, their lights were a mere whisper in her windows. Tonight it was different.
Dee stood up and stared out the window. A car pulled up slowly in front of the house, its lights illuminating her brick steps and beautifully maintained shrubs. She waited to see who it was, given that she didn’t recognize the car. Nothing happened. She set the bottle down and was just about to head to the front door when the car continued through the circular drive and left.
“Well, wasn’t that strange as all get-out,” she muttered. Was it finally time to install the driveway gate all of her friends kept urging her to get? She’d never wanted to make her home a fortress, yet right now she had an uncomfortable feeling that maybe her friends were right. Random cars driving all the way into her personal space just didn’t happen, until tonight anyway.
A ding from her pocket let her know an email had just come in. She was still staring out the front window thinking about the car and the gate as she pulled the phone out. One new email from an address she didn’t recognize. She thought about sending it immediately to the trash without bothering to look at it. Curiosity won, and she opened it and read.
Leave it alone or we’ll kill you.
***
Katrina was pissed. Stupid humans didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. She shouldn’t be surprised, or even upset, for that matter. It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, and on multiple occasions. Most of the time she operated quite nicely under the radar, even with today’s technology that gave everyone global reach. She, and others like her, did their business and built their empires on the down-low while the humans went about their lives fat, dumb, and happy. It was safer for her and her kind, and those fat, dumb, and happy humans made for an excellent source of untainted blood.
Every once in a while a human came along with too many questions and too much tenacity. They grabbed what they shouldn’t and refused to let it go. It was such a pain in the ass when this happened, and now was the worst time to have someone sticking their nose into her business. It was far easier when the humans kept their attention on their own world and didn’t worry about things like the very long lives of those like her.
When Eli had brought her the news earlier tonight, she’d been furious. She’d wanted to race down to the garage, jump into her fastest car, and go wrap her fingers around the woman’s neck right before she sank her teeth into her flesh. After she’d drained her, she’d dump her body in the middle of the street as a cautionary tale for anyone else who thought it was a good idea to dig into her affairs. Fortunately, age and wisdom paid off, and she stayed put. Violence had its place, but in this day and age it had to be wielded with a very deft hand. This was not the moment to go old school, even as satisfying as that would be. She had to deal with this threat quietly and effectively, utilizing the tools the twenty-first century had to offer.
“I’ve got the details on her.” Eli came through the open door and dropped a file folder onto her antique desk. “She could be a problem that we don’t need right now. We’re going to have to do something about her sooner rather than later.”
She opened the folder on top of the massive hardwood desk she’d been using since Woodrow Wilson was in office. It didn’t really fit in with the way people worked these days, but she couldn’t get rid of it. Even she had moments of sentiment, and this represented one of them. The woman who’d given it to her was one of her most satisfying human lovers, and the desk brought back fond memories. She didn’t have many of those.
“Let’s take a look at this pest.” She was flipping quickly through the pages, scanning for anything that jumped out at her. Typically, it took only a quick perusal to find a human’s Achilles heel, and then it was an equally quick matter to use it to shut the problem human down.
“Sort of a double-edged sword, Boss.” Eli was standing behind her gazing over her shoulder.
She cringed and wanted to backhand him. It wasn’t the way he stood so close that he was infringing on her personal space; it was his insistence on calling her “boss” that irritated the hell out of her. She’d talked to him about it no less than a hundred times. After each lecture he’d be good for a day or two, and then it would be right back to “boss.” A man…a vampire…his age should be able to get it and stop the annoying behavior. He wasn’t stupid. Truthfully, she suspected he got it all right. He just didn’t care. In the vampire world, he was young, and that was the problem with the younger generation. They could be incredibly impertinent.
Ignoring the irritation, she tapped the folder. “Explain.” She had to let it go for now. She had bigger things to concern herself with. They’d have another lesson on respect once this was all done. Perhaps a permanent lesson.
“She’s a New York Times best-selling author.”
Seriously? That’s what he was worried about? “She’s a writer. So what? We’ve dealt with more powerful humans than that before. She makes her living on lies, not a big threat to us. What else have you got?”
Eli was shaking his head. “I have to disagree with you. I know you’ve cut the legs off some bigwigs. That was in another time. In this century, things are a lot different. This writer could be a big deal because she’s stinking rich and what they like to call a bulldog. Once she’s on to something, she doesn’t let go. With her resources, she could cause the kind of problems we can’t afford.”
“Like the Consortium.”
“Like that. However she’s done it, she’s beginning to put the pieces together, and I don’t believe she’ll let go until she figures it all out. No one on the council is going to take that well, and they’ll blame you.”
He was right, even though she had nothing to do with her. It was a case of proximity, and she was in her region. That alone made her Katrina’s responsibility. “Then we will make her let go before she causes us any of said problems.”
He nodded, which didn’t surprise her. After all, he’d been around her long enough to understand she took care of issues without a single second of hesitation. It had been that way for her since the beginning. When she said she was going to do something, she did. Emotions didn’t enter into any decision. “Agreed.”
“But what?” She could hear the yeah but in his voice, and that surprised her. The little “boss” issue aside, Eli didn’t challenge her. Ever. He was a very good boy.
He leaned over her shoulder and began to flip pages. On each one, he’d point to something. “Look at this. Everything in this report here indicates she’s not likely to give it up without a fight. She thrives on challenge. She wasn’t gifted with success. This woman fought for it and earned it. That tells me she’s not going to let this go. Look at the time she’s already spent on her research. She’s getting close to putting the pieces together.”
In some respects she could admire that particular quality in the woman. In any woman who had daring and determination and who fought against the status quo. She also hated it. She herself was exactly that kind of person, and for her, it worked. It better, given how
many years she’d had to sharpen her skills. She wouldn’t be in the position she was right now if she hadn’t herself been a bulldog.
In her foes, it was a different story. She much preferred those who knew when they were up against their betters and retreated. It didn’t sound like that was the case here. Listening to Eli right now made her want to take every gift available to her and draw it all down on the dumb bitch. If she wasn’t smart enough to know when she had no chance, she deserved what she got.
Eli must have seen something in her face or picked up from her body language. As was his way, he sought to defuse the situation before her rage took hold. “Easy, Boss. I’m telling you, we’ll get her to stop. I’ve already put it into motion. You can keep your focus on the plan.”
“Put what into motion?” Lately it seemed to her that Eli was intent on showing her he could be a leader of sorts, and while under other circumstances she might appreciate his enthusiasm, this wasn’t “other” circumstances. This was a normal run-of-the-mill, stop-her-in-her-tracks kind of situation. In fact, it wouldn’t be the first time in the last twenty years or so that she’d had to take action against someone who was too nosy. In the good old days she could go many decades without a human causing her grief. Now she was lucky if she got five years before a gnat appeared. God, she hated this century. The more access to information people got, the more problems it created for her.
“You’re going to like it.” A small smile flirted at the corners of his mouth. He was an incredibly handsome man, and someone inclined toward his gender might be swayed.
Something in his expression made her wary. Sometimes he could be entirely too creative and she had to rein him in. “And you know we’ve got to be careful.”
“It’ll be fine, Boss. It always is. Have I ever let you down?”
Drawing Down the Mist Page 2