“I’m acquainted with Mr. Kashian. We’ve spoken on occasion.”
Simon snorted and Elizabeth stilled his tongue with a gentle hand on his forearm. There was something odd about the way the father looked when he mentioned King, but she put it out of her head.
“I had dinner with him last night. Not that I wanted to, but he… persuaded me. And then, I’m not really sure why, but he told me about what happened to him.”
“Did he now?” the father said, both surprised and troubled. “Isn’t that interesting.”
“That isn’t the word I’d use,” Simon said tartly.
The father smiled sympathetically. “No, I suppose not.”
He looked back to Elizabeth. “Forgive me, you were sayin’? He revealed himself to you? But he didn’t attack?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, “he didn’t.”
“It’s some pathetic game to him,” Simon said.
“Oh, no. This is no game,” the father assured them both. “Another creature wouldn’t have hesitated.”
Elizabeth shivered. That’s exactly what King had said to her. Simon clutched her hand in his and gave it a comforting squeeze, but she could feel the tension in his grip.
“It’s a terrible truth, I’m afraid,” Father Cavanaugh continued. “Used to be quite a problem here. Although, I fear Tammany Hall may be spawning something new.” He smiled ruefully. “Politics.”
Good grief. She knew the government was corrupt, but demons too? It was too much to think about, and she tried to push the implications out of her mind. One problem at a time.
“Used to be?” Elizabeth asked. “Is that because King… killed them?”
The Father clasped his hands in his lap. “It’s a wicked debt to owe, is it not? Better a lone wolf than a pack?”
“Unless that wolf is after your wife,” Simon said. “You’ll forgive me, Father. Under different circumstances I’d love to discuss the past, but it’s the present that concerns me. Soul or not, Kashian has made his intentions perfectly clear. I intend to protect my wife by whatever means necessary. If you have something that might help me, I’m in your debt. If not, we’ll try elsewhere.”
“Simon—”
“No, no. He’s quite right, my dear. And of course, I’ll do what I can to help you.”
Elizabeth let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
“You came for holy water and crosses, I imagine?”
“If you can spare them.”
The priest smiled kindly. “I think I can manage that, but I’m afraid they won’t help you. In the spirit yes, but not the flesh.”
Simon leaned back and narrowed his eyes. “So it is a myth.”
Elizabeth had been hoping Simon was wrong about that. He’d always doubted the claims of religious icons affecting vampires, but it sure would have been nice if he’d been wrong. “All the books I’ve read, all the research?”
“Propaganda,” Simon said. “Another way the church exerts its control. Another in a long series of misinformation campaigns to keep people depending on the church for things it can’t provide.”
“Or perhaps to give them faith,” Father Cavanaugh said. “Where’s the harm in helping quell people’s fear? To give them a feeling they have power over the Evil that surrounds us. Faith is the best protection.”
“That’s wonderful in the abstract, and I’m sure it comforts children before they go to bed at night,” Simon said and leaned forward. “I wish we were dealing with fanciful notions and things that only haunt people’s dreams, but this is real. This isn’t some amorphous darkness lurking around the next corner. This is a creature, flesh and blood, standing in front of me and threatening to take everything I hold dear. You’ll forgive me for being blunt, but I didn’t come here for God’s help. I came for something much more practical.”
“I find God very practical.”
Elizabeth rushed to diffuse the situation. “He didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“Don’t apologize for me, Elizabeth. I meant what I said. We came here for weapons, nothing more.”
“I understand,” the priest said. “But not all weapons are forged in steel. The most powerful weapon against Evil is inside you. Your faith.”
Simon snorted, but Elizabeth tried to ignore him. “What if… I’m not very religious, Father. I don’t really know what I believe about God.”
“Ah, but you have faith.”
“I don’t know,” she said. She thought she did, but the last twenty-four hours had made her question lots of things. She’d believed they could face anything together, but there didn’t seem any way out of the mess they’d gotten themselves into.
Father Cavanaugh looked from Simon back to Elizabeth. “You two love each other?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
“And you believe in that. You believe in your love for each other?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“That’s God,” he said. “He goes by many names, many faces, but God is simply that—love. I find God in this church, in the faces of my parishioners. One man may find it in nature, in the majesty of a tree or a river,” he said and then looked directly at Simon. “Or another man may find it in a woman’s smile. Wherever it’s to be found, it’s to be cherished. When you find it, you hold onto it and nothing, no force, no evil can take it from you. It’s yours forever. And that, my dear, is something very powerful.”
Elizabeth had never thought about faith in such simple terms. It had always been something vague and just beyond her reach. If love was the answer, she thought as she looked at Simon, she had that in abundance.
“That’s a poetic notion, Father,” Simon said. “But I fail to see how that will save our lives.”
“Not your lives perhaps, but your souls.”
“You’ll forgive me if my concerns are slightly more immediate,” Simon said.
Father Cavanaugh seemed troubled by Simon’s curt dismissal, but with patience born of years of practice, he nodded calmly.
“If we can’t use holy water or crosses,” Simon said. “What can we use? What can you tell us of his weaknesses?”
The Father sighed and his hands clenched before he spread his palms on his knees. “I’m afraid, I can be of very little help there.”
He obviously knew things he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, share.
“I see,” Simon said, clearly angry at the priest’s withholding, and rose from the couch. “Thank you for your time. Elizabeth?”
She smiled apologetically and stood. “Thank you, Father. You’ve been a great help.”
“It was my pleasure, child. You’re welcome here anytime.”
Simon barely waited for her to catch up as he started for the door. After the cool sanctuary of the church, the midday sun beat down on them with a vengeance.
“Sophistry,” Simon mumbled to himself and pushed out a frustrated breath. “I should have known that would be a waste of time.”
“I don’t think it was.”
He looked like he was about to give her a scathing rebuttal, but his expression softened as he gently touched her cheek.
“Perhaps not,” he said. “Regardless, we should find stakes. There’s likely a hardware store not too far. There must be other weapons we can find.” He loosened his tie and rolled his neck. “Damn heat.”
“Simon, I don’t think going all Rambo is going to help.”
He stared at her blankly, clearly not following the reference.
“I mean, I’d feel better with some sort of protection, but—” She shrugged.
“Elizabeth, against my better judgment, I’ve agreed to abide by your wishes and stay in this…city. But I will not let another day go by unprepared.”
Arguing was futile and the heat sapped her strength. It was impossible to remain angry with him. She knew how difficult it was for him to stay in town. How difficult all of this was for him. “All right,” she said. “But aside from getting stakes, what can we really do?”
“Over
there,” he said. “The telephone office.”
“We’re gonna kill him with long distance charges?”
“That was beneath even you,” he said, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
She stepped closer and fiddled with his tie. “You’re testy when it gets hot, aren’t you?”
“Elizabeth, please,” he said and pulled the tie from her hands. “This will take subterfuge. Do you think you’re up to it?”
“I can fuge with the best of them.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said and stepped back and looked at her appraisingly. “Do you have any lipstick?”
Now that was an odd question. “Umm, no.”
“Nothing to be done for it, I suppose.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Simon ignored her sarcasm and narrowed his eyes. “Lick your lips.”
Maybe the heat really was getting to him. There was a nice shady spot over by the newsstand. “I think you need to sit down.”
“I need you to cause a diversion. Use your feminine wiles.”
“Oh. Oh!” she said, realizing what he’d been talking about. She pulled the collar of her dress down and arched her back, pushing out her breasts. Shifting her hips to the side, she looked at him coyly. “Little ol’ me?”
His frown deepened. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
She pouted, and he shook his head. “Come along, Matahari.”
~~~
“Be careful with that,” Elizabeth said as she closed the door to the apartment behind them.
Simon carefully eased a mason-sized, glass jar out from under his jacket. “Would you stop nagging?”
“When you put the acid down, I’ll stop.”
It was insane, she thought. Brilliant, but insane. Religious icons aside, there were only four ways to kill a vampire—a wooden stake through the heart, beheading, burning, and exposure to sunlight. Too bad tanning beds hadn’t been invented yet. King was just vain enough to try one.
The wooden stakes were easy enough to come by. A visit to the local hardware store and a few tent stakes later, they were set. Beheading, aside from being absolutely disgusting, was more difficult. That left fire. Burning the host body would also destroy, or release, the demon. Or so the books said. Carrying around torches was a bit too Mary Shelley and rather impractical. She doubted King would agree to a picnic in Central Park.
That’s when Simon hatched his crazy scheme to acquire other means. While she’d caused her diversion in the telephone and telegraph office, Simon had slipped into the battery room and somehow managed to pilfer a jar of sulfuric acid. It wasn’t difficult really. She’d gone in first, face flushed from the heat. Of course, she’d run in place outside first to get a good sheen of sweat and that slightly out of breath helplessness look down. The two men on the desk were more than solicitous. A demure smile laced with batting eyelashes and an appreciation of their gallantry was all she needed. The heaving bosom was a bonus.
“We’ll keep it out of the way in the corner,” he said, as he gently placed the jar on the floor.
Elizabeth sat down on the bed and picked up one of the tent stakes and tried unsuccessfully to twirl it in her hand. “I still don’t get it. Acid’s a good weapon, I suppose. The flesh it burns and all that, but it isn’t exactly practical to carry around.”
“We need to be prepared for all situations.”
It was no use trying to talk sense into him. If he could have walked down the street with a broadsword, he would have.
“We should think about acquiring a gun,” Simon said, giving one last glance at the jar in the corner. “But I’m afraid we’re a little short of funds.”
“I’m not very fond of guns. And besides, we already know from practical experience that it won’t stop him.”
Simon frowned. “Yes, but he has men who work for him. We need to prepare for every contingency. Perhaps we can acquire some silver bullets.”
“No guns. They make me nervous.”
“Well, for now we’ll have to make do with what we have,” he said and sat down next to her. He picked up one of the wooden stakes and slipped it into his inside breast pocket. “You’ll have to start carrying a purse. I’m afraid your dress doesn’t leave much room for concealed weapons.”
“I thought that’s what you liked about it,” she said coyly. Before he could sigh and remind her, yet again, that this was serious, as if she needed reminding, she stood and smiled triumphantly. “I’ve already worked that out.”
She put her leg up on the bed next to him, lifted the hem of her dress, and slipped a stake neatly under her garter belt. “What do you think?”
He blinked a few times and then narrowed his eyes. “That is…disturbingly sexy.”
“Is it?” she said and knelt on the bed, moving to straddle his lap.
His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. “Very,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss, but stopped just short of her lips. “You will be careful, won’t you?”
“One more week and hopefully, it’ll all be over.”
His forehead creased with worry, and Elizabeth reached up to smooth away the lines. “I’ll be careful. And you, try not to rile King.”
He gathered her hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips. “I won’t start anything,” he promised, leaving unsaid the vow that, if need be, he would finish it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE AIR WAS THICK with sweat and smoke in the club that night. The sweltering heat from the day hadn’t dissipated, and seemingly every denizen of the city was out looking for a place to slake their thirst. Charlie’s club was more crowded than ever before. It didn’t seem to matter that the room was stifling, or that the booze just made people thirstier; they came in droves. They crammed extra chairs up to tables meant for two, and pulled up crates when the chairs ran out. Shoulder to shoulder, hot and sticky patrons crushed against the bar, until it was nearly impossible for Elizabeth to maneuver from table to table.
Around ten o’clock, King arrived. His customary table emptied quickly as the people scurried out of his way. With as much calm as she could muster, she walked to his table. “What can I get for you?”
His dark eyes danced over her body in smooth appraisal.
“We’re kinda busy tonight,” she said and nervously shifted her tray from one hand to the other. Courage, Camille, she told herself. One more week. Play it cool.
“I can see that,” he said without taking his eyes from her.
“So, you want something or not?”
“I hope you’re feeling better today.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mmmm. And I imagine you feel more secure with your…protection.” There was a hint of anger mixed with the amusement in his tone.
Did he know everything they did? “Yes. I do.”
He took a dramatic breath and leaned back in his chair. “I can see where your husband has his. The bulge in his coat is quite telling. But, where, I wonder,” he said and ran his gaze up and down her body, “have you hidden yours?”
“You forget yourself,” she said tightly.
He leaned forward and eyes sparked. “I think it’s you who’ve forgotten who I am.”
“No, I haven’t,” she said, taking a long breath that calmed her jangled nerves. How was she supposed to play it cool when it was hotter than blue blazes in here?
“No, I don’t imagine you have,” he said, easing back in his chair. “You’d be wise not to.”
Could he even have a conversation that didn’t include a threat? “You’ve already made that much clear.”
“I’m glad we understand each other. It wouldn’t do to have a misunderstanding at this point, would it?” he said, as his gaze fell on Simon. “They can be so…unpleasant.”
Despite the heat, she felt a cold shiver, which was quickly followed by a wave of anger. His eyes flicked back to her and he smiled, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. “Things needn’t be that way, of co
urse. They can be rather…pleasant, if you let them.”
Her stomach heaved at the way he shaded the phrase with innuendo and dark promises, but she’d be damned if she’d let it show. “I really should get back to work. Did you want something to drink?”
“No, nothing. I simply came to check on my…interests.”
“The club’s doing well,” she said, ignoring the implication of his not so oblique reference.
He grinned indulgently. “Yes, things are going well. Very well.”
“Have a good night then.”
“I already have.”
She marshaled a weak smile and made her escape. King lingered for a few minutes, quietly surveying his domain. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her back as she moved around the club. But, thankfully, he left and the night progressed without another incident.
~~~
Over the next few nights, the stress of waiting for King’s next move was starting to wear on them. Simon, true to his word, kept himself in check, but the tension at work spilled over into the day. They sniped at each other, pushing buttons better left alone. And it seemed the whole city shared their frustration.
The unbearable heat wave that gripped New York shortened everyone’s fuse. Hot, muggy air enveloped the city day and night. Dark clouds loomed perpetually on the horizon, but the storm refused to break. Anxious energy crackled in the air like electricity.
Even the normally congenial patrons at Charlie’s were beginning to show the strain. Bickering replaced conversation, and Lester had to break up two arguments before they broke out into full scale brawls.
That Friday night, an older, well-dressed gentleman entered the club and walked over to a recently emptied table against the wall. His tailored, herringbone suit and shock of white hair would normally have brought a few stares, but the heat had sapped everyone’s curiosity along with their good natures. He folded his long frame into the rickety, wooden chair, crossed his legs and melted into the dark wall behind him.
Dix didn’t even notice him at first. She was busy counting the hours till closing, dreaming of a cool bath to wash away the day’s grime. Eventually, she sidled over to his table to get his order.
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