“So you have to…what? Discern?” Rosalie asked, half-seriously, but Justin was nodding his head vigorously.
“That’s a good word for it. Sorting the wheat from the chaff, so to speak,” he said with a grin. “A lot of “vampires” are comparatively ordinary blokes, nothing really special about them. Your folks, for instance.”
Rosalie ruminated on this for a moment, then asked, “How can you tell?”
“There are signs,” Justin shrugged. “The first is the ability to respond to a low-level vibration, like a dog whistle. Only Seekers and Soldiers can hear it, so when you looked up that first night, I knew you were one or the other.”
“Yes,” she said, “but what made you zero in on me in the first place? “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world”, and all that jazz.”
“The elders gave a list of probables, and you were on the top of the list, like my dad said,” Justin said readily enough, but Rosalie was suddenly convinced he was keeping something back. By this time they were at her house, and they once again sat down on the sidewalk.
“Yes?” she said interrogatively, and when he looked down at her inquiringly, she prodded impatiently, “There’s something else. What is it?”
Justin jumped up, briskly dusting his seat. “I don’t know what you mean. I gotta go, but I’ll come over later, okay?” He didn’t wait for her response, but loped easily off to his house. Rosalie frowned. There was something he wasn’t telling her.
She resolved to get it out of him. Later.
Chapter Eleven – Journeys
Gerard Cole made some notations on his pad as he was driven to the marina where his boat was docked. Being the top guy in a company that was coining money all over the world was a full time job; taking off for two weeks was not something he could afford to do very often. But these were exceptional circumstances which required his personal attention. The wheels would continue to turn well enough in his absence.
He had received some disturbing news that would have far-reaching consequences for the whole coven. He needed the combined power of the elders to help him verify and decide on a plan of action. Cole turned to his laptop and tapped out a message to his daughter, who ran the company by his side. She was 35 years old and looked like she could try out for high school cheerleader for the first time. She was also highly logical, a rarity among his kind.
He sent off the email and leaned back on the comfortable seat of his limousine. He let out a sigh of some sadness, and closed his eyes.
They were travelling at close to the speed limit on the highway, which was relatively deserted in the early morning light. A truck droned by as the car moved towards the exit ramp for the marina, which gently curved to the right, guard rails protecting vehicles from the sheer drop on the other side. The limousine driver cut his eye towards the rearview mirror, and saw that Cole seemed to be dozing. A rather grim smile appeared on his face, and sweat brought out over his forehead. He thought of his family, his poor daughter who needed special medical attention he couldn’t afford. They’ll be all right now, he thought, as he closed his eyes and let his hands drop.
The limousine purred on, unchecked, and sailed spectacularly through the guard rail to crash in the rocky verge 20 feet below.
***
The story dominated the 11 o’clock news, and was watched grimly by a score of people, and with satisfaction by at least two others. Rowina Cole watched it unblinkingly, thinking about the message she received in her personal email a bare two hours ago. He always knew, she thought. Was that a comfort or a curse?
My dear, (the message read)
Very soon you will hear of my death. We have discussed various contingencies if such an event occurs, but we will have to deviate from those plans for now. Some matters have come about that must take precedence over anything else, so business matters will have to wait. You must not allow any delays in carrying out instructions I have sent to my personal computer at Eden. You know how to access it. It is likely that the police will have questions for you, but put them off. I trust that when the present crisis has been resolved, they will not prove a nuisance.
There was no salutation at the end of the missive, but then she didn’t expect any. She and her dad had an excellent working relationship that had nothing to do with their closer relationship. She was nevertheless fiercely loyal, which was all he needed to know.
After a moment, Rowina got up and sent her own messages to a predetermined set of people. That done, she instructed her secretary to hold all calls and gave orders to have the company helicopter ready to carry her to Eden in the next hour. She detested boats.
As she walked from her office to her own limousine, she acknowledged the commiserations from the people she encountered with a nod, but no one was really surprised at her stoic expression. Rowina Cole was known to be a bloodless, passionless creature, and the people who worked most closely with her would have been flabbergasted if she had shown emotion now.
If the truth was to be told, the death of her father upset Rowina less than the manner of it. In a sense, she knew her mind was in defensive mode, dealing with a problem that she believe needed to be solved rather than deal with the fact that her father was dead. She didn’t actually believe it yet. Not until—
Rowina frowned, tapping her well-manicured finger on her teeth, as she was wont to do when she was puzzled. Not until---what? She didn’t know, but it had come unbidden into her mind.
The problem was, her father had known he would be dead shortly, and had sent her a message giving her instructions. She didn’t believe that her father would have gone calmly to his death without a very good reason. And that reason was something she needed to know. And it seemed Eden held the answers she sought, so she was going to Eden.
***
Ned Foster watched the same news with Brandon. Justin was still at school.
“They really did it,” Ned muttered. Brandon watched him expressionlessly. Ned looked up. “We have to move things along.” He stood up and went out the door to go over to confer with Moira. Brandon switched off the television and sat waiting for his dad to come back with instructions for him.
By the time Justin and Rosalie were cozily chatting in her front lawn, arrangements had been made for Rosalie’s transport to the training center for that weekend, two days away.
***
Rosalie could hardly believe she was on her way to an undisclosed location to be trained as a Seeker. It had happened very fast. One minute, she was scheming on how to get at what Justin was keeping from her, and the next she was being hustled into a trip she was getting more and more nervous about. She forgot all about what Justin was keeping from her.
Frank and Moira had been borne relentlessly along. Ned had painted for them a grim picture.
“You heard about Gerard Cole?” he asked them, and they had nodded, mystified. “He was financing much of our efforts to counteract the rogue Seekers. The fact that he had been eliminated means that the rogue Seekers are planning to make a major move. We have no time to waste.”
“What makes you think his death was engineered by the rogue group?” Frank asked. “He was a very rich, powerful man. He could have any number of enemies unconnected with all this.” He made a vague motion with his hand to encompass the Fosters.
Ned gave him a pitying look. “He was a Seeker, and a powerful one at that. No ordinary human could have gotten under his guard like that. It had to be one of the rogues.”
Frank and Moira had continued to protest, but Ned demonstrated the ruthlessness that had made him the number one target for the rogue Seekers. He cajoled and demanded in turns, and finally Frank and Moira had simply given in.
And now she was on her way to the training camp in the company of Brandon. Justin had to stay for a while to keep up appearances at school before doing a quick fade himself a week later. She had bade Simone and Ben a hurried goodbye after school that Friday, promising to call, not knowing if she would be allowed to.
; The first hour in the car was made in silence. Brandon had contributed little throughout their acquaintance, and Rosalie hadn’t thought about it before, but she think she could count what he has said so far on the fingers of one hand.
She looked at his profile curiously, wondering what went on behind the expressionless face. It was a well-made face, similar to Justin but with a more pugnacious jaw. He was also broader at the shoulder although he was an inch or two shorter. His eyes, which were a dark brown, lacked the twinkle that always seemed to lurk in Justin’s eyes.
Rosalie thought he would make a great guard-at-arms, so immovable that he didn’t seem alive. He moved with an economy of effort that was strangely comforting.
She tried to see past his façade into the mind, but got absolutely nothing. She left off the fruitless pursuit and faced forward again with a sigh. After a while, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
Chapter Twelve – The House
Rosalie woke up with a start, huddled into the seat and still feeling the sensation of falling and landing with a thud. It was that dream again. It was dark, so for a moment she felt disoriented, and wondered if she was still dreaming, but she wasn’t in the woods anymore, but inside the car. Her heart was beating hard, and the sweat on her face was real enough. She looked around and caught Brandon’s brief glance. It was so brief she wasn’t sure it actually happened.
“Bad dream?” he asked, and Rosalie struggled to a more upright position.
“Yeah,” she said, feeling still a bit stupid from her dream. “Just a dream.”
Brandon seemed about to say something, then changed his mind. He lapsed into silence again, breaking it only as he briefly informed her that they were about 10 minutes away.
Rosalie looked around her. There were off the highway, but it was an anonymous stretch of land. There were no visible landmarks, but she thought she sensed water nearby. They turned into what seemed like a long driveway amid fields of wildflowers and grass. She could see lights ahead, and it coalesced into a large house surrounded by a well-kept garden, and what seemed to be a stable on the side. At least she could hear the whinny of a horse, so at least one horse. The whole property was surrounded by a high fence and at regular intervals, a sign with red lightning on it warned away the curious: electrified.
They appeared to be expected, because as they approached the main gates, it opened with a rumble of metal wheels on tracks. They swept through and the gate closed behind them.
Brandon brought the car right up to the front door, and stopped. He finally looked at her full in the face. “Welcome to the Stronghold,” he said, and Rosalie wasn’t absolutely sure, but she thought she saw him smile.
Smile or not, Brandon retreated into his impression of a statue when they passed through the front door, which was opened by a uniformed guard. Brandon just looked at him, and the guard jerked his head towards a door on the left. Without a word, Brandon walked towards the indicated door and opened it, gesturing for Rosalie to precede him.
Rosalie found herself in a rather grim room, with dark paneling and bristling with heavy, hardwood furniture. By contrast, the figure draped over one of the sofas was the epitome of softness. The woman was quite small, and at first glance seemed hardly older than Rosalie. As she came closer, however, Rosalie could see that she was much older by the fine lines between the eyes and at the corners of the mouth. She realized immediately that this was Margaret Philips, which meant she was nearly 100 years old.
“Welcome!” the old lady said with a smile as she held out her hands, and Rosalie found herself smiling back and holding out her hands. She was immediately conscious of the long fingernails of the older woman in her hands, and involuntarily took a glance at them. They were lacquered a deep red.
Margaret saw the direction of Rosalie’s attention, and gave a gay laugh, holding up her hands. “I know, it’s a bother, but they do come in very useful for self-defense. The expression ‘scratch your eyes out’ takes on whole new meaning.” As if to demonstrate, she speared an apple with one small fingertip. The fruit looked as if it was growing out of her fingernail. “A little nail polish goes a long way towards camouflage.”
Rosalie knew the nails were tough. She had to use a pair of heavy duty clippers used for dogs to keep her own nails short, and they grew fast. It was a tiresome chore, and she never thought of them as something that could be useful. From her new perspective, she now saw how they could be highly effective weapons. She glanced down at her own short fingernails dubiously.
“Oh, don’t worry about that part now,” Margaret said with a smile. “You have more important things that you need to concentrate on.” Just then, Brandon walked into the room, and Margaret extended her hands to him with a smile crinkling her eyes. “Hello, Brandon. How are you?”
Brandon took the outstretched hands and bent to kiss a soft cheek. He didn’t smile, but Rosalie saw his eyes had lost their flat sheen and glowed with a warmth she had not suspected him to have. “Hello, Meg. I’m good. Barbara ready for her latest pupil?”
Margaret nodded her head, a fascinating dimple surfacing on her left cheek. “She jumped on the first plane when she heard. I hear her agent’s tearing his hair out, but nothing could stop Barbara!” She turned to Rosalie. “She’s waiting for you in the conference room, are you too tired to meet her right now?”
Rosalie shook her head, feeling a strong protectiveness towards this woman, and didn’t wonder at Brandon’s obvious affection. “I’m not tired at all,” she disclaimed, and had her arm pressed warmly in response.
“Spectacular!” Margaret gushed, guiding her out the room and walking her two doors down the hall, Brandon following close behind. “Barbara is a real peach, but she does get a little carried away when she’s training, so if she pushes you too hard, push back,” she advised as she turned the knob into the room.
“I heard that,” a musical voice piped up, and the opening door revealed its occupant seated at the head of a long conference table. Rosalie’s eyes widened as she recognized the woman as Jean Mitchell. She was a famous actress well-known for her uncanny ability to take on widely-divergent roles which she made imminently believable. Her latest movie had her playing the role of a psychopathic serial child killer, a far cry from her role as the comic lead in a family-oriented movie about a talking dog which had preceded it. Rosalie instantly understood why she was such a great actress.
“Yes, it was a terrible role, wasn’t it?” the woman said agreeably. Brandon gave Rosalie a quick glance, and saw her answering smile.
“Which one?” she asked teasingly. The famous woman waved her hand dismissively.
“Pick.”
“I’m guessing you don’t need any introductions,” Margaret chimed in, patting Rosalie’s cheek as she briskly made her way out. “So I’ll just let you get down to—whatever.” She sailed out with a backward wave of her hand and Brandon followed more slowly. Rosalie hardly noticed as she was just a little bit star struck.
Barbara aka Jean Mitchell was a tall woman with gorgeous titian red hair that she normally wore loose when attending celebrity functions or posing for her numerous magazine covers. In most of her roles, she played a mid-thirties woman, although her biography placed her as nearer to mid-forties. Right now, she had her hair up in a ponytail and she looked all of twenty without her makeup. Rosalie had an idea that she wore makeup to look older rather than younger.
She also had dark eyes which were thoughtfully surveying Rosalie. She stood up and walked around the table to her.
“You really have a remarkable block for someone who’s never been trained,” Barbara observed. “I can only pick up surface thoughts, although I could probably get more if I tried harder. Try to keep me out,” she directed as she took Rosalie’s hands in hers, and Rosalie thought distantly that her nails were quite short. Barbara gazed into her eyes, and it seemed to Rosalie that her eyes had flecks of red in them as well.
Rosalie again felt a tug at the front of her brain, as she had expe
rienced when Justin had tried to get into her thoughts that first time. An image of the doorknob turning floated into her thoughts, and she mentally visualized a double bolt that held the door tightly closed.
“Excellent,” Barbara sighed softly, then let go of her hands, gesturing to the nearby chair. Rosalie sat down, watching Barbara as she pulled out another chair and sat down facing her. With quick grace, she gathered Rosalie’s hands in hers and held them firmly.
“You need to know the situation, but it’s much quicker if I show you,” Barbara murmured, and Rosalie felt a warm tingling start at the tips of her fingers. She closed her eyes and opened her mind’s eye to see what Barbara had to show her.
The images flipped loomed at her with some speed, yet her mind retained each one, and knew what each one meant. One showed a small boy, talking to adults clad in animal skins, and pointing in a westerly direction. Then it was an image of a child lying in a dark place, eyes unfocused but gleaming. Another showed a snarling woman facing off with a grim-faced man, both their eyes glowing red. The next image was of the same woman, flanked by several others looking back with hate in her face, her canines showing in a grimace. Next was what appeared to be a plaza, and in the middle was a woman screaming as she burned at the stake with people looking on with fear.
The scream drilled into Rosalie’s ear, and she involuntarily clapped her hands to her ears, breaking contact. “Oh my God!” she whispered, horrified.
Barbara nodded her head. “Yes, they burned Seekers at the stake as witches. It was the price they paid for the power they thought they could just grab.”
She stood up and started to pace, her hands waving in illustration. “It’s pretty mundane after that period. They became more subtle, gaining power through influence and wealth. They gained positions in industry, the media, businesses and governments all over the world. We’re the only ones who can keep them in check, which is why they are trying to wipe us out.”
Vampire Warfare Page 5