by PG Forte
“Yeah? Well, they also don’t have a lot to do with making sense.” Marc shook his head. “Think about it, Jules. Why would someone who’s living here need to lure Conrad away? If he wanted to overpower him, in some fashion, it would have to be tons easier to attack him in his sleep, or while he was feeding or something, wouldn’t it? And, assuming Brennan is even telling the truth and Conrad really was headed for the park the night he disappeared, that makes it even less likely that the person we’re looking for is someone who’s that closely associated with Conrad or the nest. Hell, if even the gate guard knows about Conrad’s dislike of the park, don’t you think his own people might?”
“What do you mean ‘if he’s telling the truth’? You think he’s lying?”
“Not necessarily. I just think he’s too vague about when it happened. It could have been some other night, for all we know.”
“So, two unusual events occur in close proximity and you don’t think it would be more odd if they weren’t connected?”
Marc shrugged. “Good point. It still suggests someone outside the nest, however. Which means it could be almost anyone.”
“Unless that’s what we’re supposed to think,” Julie countered, trying to ignore the way her heart felt, all twisted up with fear.
We’re not getting anywhere. We’re never going to find him. He’s going to die and we’re never going to see him again and it will all be our fault.
“Maybe, whoever it was sent Conrad to the park in order to trick him into believing they were someone they weren’t, someone who would have no reason to know how he feels about the place. Besides, didn’t Damian say that we shouldn’t trust anyone within the nest? Obviously he doesn’t think we should just write them off as suspects.”
“That’s not what he said.” Marc shook his head emphatically. “Not exactly. He said we couldn’t trust them to get to Conrad before we did. I don’t think he meant to suggest it was one of us who was behind the plot to…to abduct him, or, or whatever.” His voice slid to a halt. “What?” he asked, frowning at her.
Julie gaped at her brother. One of us? Was she hearing things? Had her uptight, don’t-call-me-vampire brother really just referred to himself in so clannish a manner? “N-n-nothing,” she all but stuttered in surprise. Oh, if only things were different. She’d tease him unmercifully about this. But, as things stood now— “Never mind. I just…well, I just don’t see how it’s going to help us to eliminate suspects without even considering what their motives might be. How are we ever going to figure out who took him if we can’t figure out why?”
“Why isn’t the problem,” Marc said, sounding suddenly very certain. “Let’s assume Damian is right. If whoever has Conrad is holding him somewhere until he’s worn down enough that they can kill him and take over the nest, then I think we can safely conclude that taking over the nest would have to be the reason why they’re holding him in the first place. Right?”
Assume? “You know what they say about people who assume, don’t you?” Julie replied darkly.
Marc sighed. “Look, we have to start somewhere. When scientists are trying to solve a problem they always start with a basic assumption, why shouldn’t the same thing work for us as well? Besides, if we assume we know why they took him, then all we really have to do is figure out who and, hopefully, that will give us where. And, once we know that…”
“We should be able to find him.” Julie shook her head. “That makes sense, I guess. Or maybe it doesn’t and I’m too tired to think straight.”
“That would make two of us,” Marc agreed. Getting up, he headed once again for his room. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll check in with Damian in the evening, and see if he thinks we’re on the right track.”
“Marc?” Julie called, stopping him before he disappeared. “You really think we’ll find him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Absolutely”
“What makes you so sure?” she asked, hoping for something she could cling to, some small measure of reassurance.
But Marc’s smile held little to comfort her. “Because if I allowed myself to think anything else, I wouldn’t be able to function.”
Julie sighed and nodded. Not quite the answer she’d been hoping for.
She watched as Marc turned away again and disappeared into his own room, then she reached for the curtains at her window and pulled them aside. She was hoping there was still a little dark left, but the champagne shade of the fog outside her window told her morning had already arrived. It was no time for her kind to be out and about, no time to be hunting. She still wasn’t hungry, but the thrill of the chase would have been good, it would have done a lot to relax her.
She was turning away from the window when she heard the knock on her bedroom door. Brennan? Hope rose within her. She was halfway to the door before reality intruded. No, it can’t be. What am I thinking? How would Brennan have found her room? Why would he even be in the house? It’s probably just Damian, she decided as she reached for the door. And, really, wasn’t that even better? Blood was all well and good, but she could think of nothing that would be more comforting than a brief return to the safety of childhood.
“I’ m so glad you’re here,” she sighed, pulling the door open wide. “Because I could really use a hug.”
Armand’s hazel eyes twinkled with amusement. “Which I would be very happy to provide.”
“Oh.” Julie’s cheeks flamed red. Crap. “Sorry. I-I th-thought you were someone else.”
“Oui.” His smile turning rueful, Armand nodded. “So I had assumed.” He spread his arms wide and took a step closer. “However…the offer still stands.”
Once again, Julie found herself backing away from the door and into her room, just like she’d done the night before. “Th-thanks,” she stammered, unable to get the words out. “That…uh…I mean, that’s…”
“Nice of me?” Armand suggested, following after her. “Oui. I am often nice. Ask anyone who knows me.”
“I was going to say, not necessary.”
“Were you?” Eyes gleaming, Armand closed the door behind him. “Well, what of it? The two need not be mutually exclusive. Don’t you agree?”
Did she? Julie shook her head in a futile effort to clear it. It was so time to change the subject. “So, um…what are you doing here?” she asked, finally catching her breath. What was it about this guy that always left her so flustered?
Armand’s smile disappeared. Reproach shaded his voice as he murmured, “I waited all night for you.” Julie figured she must have looked as confused as she felt for his eyes widened slightly in surprise. “I was to give you a tour of the house last night. Do you not remember? We discussed it yesterday morning. But, non.” He sighed heavily. “I can see you do not recall our conversation.”
“No, I…” Julie’s voice trailed off as she considered what excuse she could make. “Sorry.” She could say she’d gotten tied up with something else, but that might lead to questions as to what it was she’d ended up doing. Failing that, she could claim to have been with Damian, which would work unless Drew mentioned having seen her at the club. Wait a minute—
An unpleasant chill pebbled her skin. What if he already had? What if Drew and Armand were in league with each other? What if they knew what she and Marc were really here for and were wondering how much they might have learned tonight? What if Armand was questioning her now in hopes of finding out whether she knew that they knew that she knew that they… “Whoa.” Julie swayed on her feet as all the suppositions left her dizzy.
“Are you all right?” Armand asked, quickly slipping a hand under her elbow to steady her. “Julie?”
She nodded gratefully. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Marc was right. She really had to stop suspecting everyone. All this conspiracy stuff could make a person crazy.
“Here. Why don’t you sit down?” Still holding onto her arm, Armand urged her toward the bed. “Have you eaten at all today? Would you like me to bring you a snack?”
/> “A snack?” Julie gazed at him, diverted by the possibility. What kind of snack did he have in mind? Would he bring her Brennan if she asked for him? Would he want to watch while she fed…maybe join in? Or, maybe she could watch while he… “No, thank you.” It was a little scary how much the thought of it appealed to her.
“How about some water then?” Armand nodded toward the bathroom. “Shall I run you a glass?”
Julie shook her head. It was impossible to know whether Marc had really gone to bed or not and the last thing she wanted was her brother’s involvement in…whatever this was. “I don’t need anything. I’m feeling much better now. I think I was just…overtired.” It was true, she realized, as she pulled her legs up on the bed and curled onto her side. She lifted one hand to her face and yawned widely.
“Of course.” Nodding politely, Armand headed back toward the door. “I should let you get some rest. Perhaps we can reschedule our date for later this evening?”
“Date?” She sat up again, quickly. Had she agreed to a date at some point? What else might she be forgetting?
“To tour the house?” Armand studied her face for a moment and his own face fell. “Or, perhaps that’s not such a good idea.” Obviously, he was disappointed with her reaction. Julie could hardly blame him for that. She was sure she’d looked and sounded appalled.
“Maybe we can postpone the tour until after Conrad gets back,” she suggested, smiling apologetically in an effort to soften the blow of her initial reaction. “I really would like to see it, you know, but I have a feeling I’m going to be pretty preoccupied up until then.”
Armand’s gaze turned thoughtful. “So…you intend to stay here until his return then? Even though we have no idea when that might be?”
Julie smiled and happily lied. “Damian insists we wait.”
Armand nodded. “Tres bien. Another time then.” He flashed her a parting smile and was reaching for the doorknob when another thought occurred to Julie.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Ye-es?” he said, turning back again, eyes glinting with curiosity.
“What can you tell me about Golden Gate Park?”
“You want to know about the park?” Armand stared at her, his face suddenly wiped blank of emotion. “Well, let me see…it was created, I believe, in the late eighteen hundreds. It covers about a thousand acres and is very popular with tourists today, as it once was with the hippies. It borders Haight Ashbury, as you probably know, and extends all the way to the beach. In fact, I think the land it occupies was largely sand dunes, at one time.”
Julie shook her head. “No, that’s not the kind of thing I mean. What do you think of it?”
“Oh.” For a moment, Armand’s eyes went very far away—somewhere dark and grim, Julie decided, watching him. “I don’t.”
She frowned. “Don’t what? Think?”
“Not if I can help it,” he said, smiling faintly, obviously intent on changing the subject. “As an occupation I find it sadly overrated.”
“Someone told me Conrad avoids it. Do you know why?”
At that, Armand’s mouth tightened. “I would never presume to speak for Conrad.”
“But why do you think he doesn’t like it there?” Julie asked, wishing she could pressure him the way she had Brennan. Good luck with that. “What do you have against the place?”
“That’s personal,” he replied, his tone wooden. “And, no offense, but it’s not something I wish to discuss.”
Julie sighed. “So, I guess, if I were to ask you to accompany me there…on a date, for example, you wouldn’t go?”
His eyes narrowing, Armand stared at her, as though considering the matter. When he shook his head, she thought she saw a flash of real regret in his expression. “Non. I would not. And, if you had my memories,” he added as he reached again for the door handle, “you would not go there either.” He was gone before she could think of anything else to ask.
As she undressed and got into bed, Julie replayed the conversation over in her head. There was something familiar about it; something familiar and troubling and…vaguely ominous. She had no idea why.
She was half asleep before the answer came to her. Armand’s last words had seemed eerily close to a scene from one of her favorite works of fiction: Rebecca. In fact, he’d seemed almost to be quoting Maxim’s response when asked about his feelings toward the cottage where his first wife had died. Could Armand have meant something similar?
Julie shivered and pulled the blankets more tightly around her as she pondered the question. Had Armand just told her he’d killed someone in the park? Was it possible he could have done such a thing—and gotten away with it?
Oh, but why even ask? He was a vampire. Of course he could have done such a thing. Couldn’t any of them? Besides, hadn’t she seen the sadness, the grief, the quick flash of guilt in his eyes? If it wasn’t murder that was troubling him, it was something damn close. And, now, she supposed, the question became: who was it he’d killed?
Chapter Seven
Thursday, November 28th, 1968
Thanksgiving Day
“All I’m saying is that the picnic in the park was a total blast and you missed out on a really great party today.”
Desert Rose was pouting. Arms crossed, her posture rigid, she glared sullenly at Conrad from one end of his couch. Lying comfortably against the cushions at the other end, he smiled back at her indulgently. He hadn’t been expecting to see her here this evening. Even though she’d taken to spending nearly every weekend with him, tonight was Thursday—definitely part of the week, as far as he was concerned. In her mind, however, the fact that it was Thanksgiving apparently made it the start of the weekend.
“I told you all about it when I was here last weekend. I was really hoping you’d show. You’d have liked it.”
“Yes, I’m sure I would have.” Enough talk now. Conrad reached for the girl and pulled her toward him. He rearranged her limbs until she was reclining against his chest with her head resting on his shoulder, her long, dark hair swept to one side. Unexpected, yes, he thought, as he began to lick lazily at her neck. But definitely not unwelcome. Three days was long enough to go without. He’d grown quite addicted to the taste of her over the course of the past month—which would have worried him, if he’d been planning on turning her. He wasn’t. “I’m sorry I missed your picnic today. It sounds like it was a…real happening scene.”
A strangled noise, emanating from the vicinity of the secretary desk on the other side of the room, greeted Conrad’s observation. He glanced up, his face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of Armand’s pained expression.
“A happening scene? Mon Dieu.”
“Well, it was,” Desert Rose insisted as she settled deeper into Conrad’s embrace, her eyes closed, her neck exposed. “With music and dancing and…just crowds of people. And more food than you’ve probably ever seen in your life.”
Armand’s eyes grew smoky as he gazed at the girl. His tongue danced lightly across the points of his teeth. He looked mesmerized, enchanted. He looked hungry.
Mine. Conrad stilled. It took a conscious effort to tamp down the unreasoning jealousy that was once again threatening to burn holes in his gut. Luckily, Armand seemed to collect himself before too much time had passed. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head and went back to work, writing checks to pay the monthly bills. Conrad relaxed as well, and quietly sank his teeth into the girl’s waiting neck.
“Corn and beans and squash and cranberry sauce and those little pearl onions,” she continued her recital, in the slightly dreamy tone that indicated she was so relaxed she hadn’t even noticed Conrad’s feasting at her throat. “And mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, three kinds of pie, a big chocolate cake. Not to mention homemade bread and biscuits and pumpkin soup. Oh, and there was even an entire turkey made out of tofu.”
“It sounds delightful.” Conrad raised his head. “Armand?”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est…toe-foo?”
Armand looked up again, his face perplexed. “Je ne sais pas,” he replied with a shrug. Then, his face clearing, he snapped his fingers. “ Ah, non, non, non. Il est Chinois. It’s something to do with soybeans. A kind of a paste, I think?”
“Soybeans? Vraiment?” Conrad shook his head and went back to his meal. Soybean turkeys. What would they think of next? He could still eat human food, if he had to, but it had very little taste and no nutritional value for him, so he rarely bothered. In the past, of course, things had been different and he’d frequently been forced to eat regular meals as part of his attempts to pass for human. He hadn’t felt the need for such subterfuge in quite some time, however, and being as he was now a man of some means and could afford not to eat, he no longer did.
“I wish you’d been there,” Desert Rose murmured, still pouting. “You could have met some of my friends.”
“I’m sure that would have been very charming,” Conrad lied and, sensing she was growing restless, quickly licked the wounds shut and released her. “But, you know, mignonne, Armand is Canadian and they don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving in his country. It would have been rude to leave him alone.”
“Well, you could have come too,” she said, sitting up and gazing earnestly at Armand. “All sorts of people were there.”
“Merci, chérie.” Armand smiled at her. “And, for the record, we do celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada. It’s just not all about the food for us.” He cast a sly glance in Conrad’s direction. “But, you know, Conrad is not from this country originally either. So you can’t really expect him to appreciate the delights of all your traditional American dishes. Like tofu, for example.”
“You’re not American?” Eyes wide, she stared at Conrad. “Where are you from?”
“Originally?” Conrad frowned. He had to think about that for a moment. The part of Europe he hailed from had been called many different things over the centuries, most of which would mean nothing to her. “Rome,” he answered, finally, taking the easy way out.