In the end, it had been Liz who kept her alive. The prospect of leaving her baby sister alone with the monsters had been motivation enough to get her out of her sick bed and on her feet, determined to stay alive until she saw Liz far away from Lord Jabril Karim and anyone like him.
Tonight, when Jabril told her Liz was missing, her first desperate hope was that her sister had finally run. Liz's own eighteenth birthday was only a few weeks away, and it was no secret Jabril was eager for the day he could turn his old friends’ youngest daughter and gain full control of their estate. He wasn't satisfied with Mirabelle's share; he wanted it all. And since he'd gotten away with raping Mirabelle, why not Liz too? But Liz was stronger than Mirabelle and apparently she'd managed to escape. Mirabelle felt a rush of fierce pride for her little sister.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and she lifted her head, listening. Someone was coming up the marble staircase near the front of the house. She caught the distinct scent of old blood and frowned. With the careful, concise moves of long practice, she turned off the computer and stashed it in its hiding place, closed the refrigerator door and slid the drawer facade across the front. Only seconds later, she was on her feet and pulling the heavy robe over her jeans and sweatshirt. By the time a perfunctory knock presaged the opening of her door, she was sitting by the window, reading a book.
Asim's careful gaze scanned the entire room before coming to rest on her. “Do you know where she is?” he asked gently. Asim had been with Jabril for hundreds of years, a generational family retainer whom Jabril had brought over as Vampire to serve his own evolving needs. Asim handled all the details the vampire lord thought too tedious to concern himself with and was the only one of Jabril's minions who still treated Mirabelle with any kindness. He'd intervened on her behalf on more than one occasion, saving her from punishment at Jabril's hands. There were times when she suspected Asim actually saw himself as her protector, almost a stern father figure, or perhaps an uncle.
She met his inquiry with a confused frown. “My lord?” He wasn't really a lord, only Jabril Karim himself deserved that title, but she knew it pleased him.
"I know this is difficult for you, Mirabelle. I know you don't understand his ways, but what he does is necessary. For you and for all of us. The woman from the government agency will be here next week for her monthly visit. Elizabeth wasn't here for the last visit; she must be here for this one. Jabril will be most furious if she is not, and I needn't tell you who will suffer the brunt of his anger."
Mirabelle studied his face, looking for any indication he was playing her. She wanted, she needed, to believe he cared about her, that he could be trusted, that she wasn't utterly alone. She dropped her eyes with a sigh. “I haven't seen her, Asim. Honestly. She didn't say anything to me about going anywhere."
"I see.” He seemed almost disappointed, and Mirabelle felt a flush of shame, feeling as if she'd somehow let him down. Tears filled her eyes and he looked away, seemingly embarrassed by her weeping. “Best you stay in your rooms,” he said finally, walking over to the door. “His temper is uncertain tonight, and I don't want him to see you this way.” He gave her a final, sorrowful look and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
With the door closed, Mirabelle let the tears come, great hiccupping gulps of tears, crying for all she'd lost. Not only her grandfather and her parents, but the dreams of a teenage girl—her first boyfriend, her first kiss, a husband, children. All the life she'd never have.
Chapter Seven
Jabril fisted the blond slave's hair, yanking her head back and stretching her throat taut, until the thick outline of her jugular could be seen beneath the delicate skin. He lowered his head and sniffed, enjoying the sweet scent of her blood and the even sweeter stench of her terror. He waited, savoring the moment as the dark-haired slave with her mouth on his cock brought him to the edge of climax, then sank his teeth into the blond's neck. Her scream of pain made him hard once again, and he drank deeply until she was limp beneath him. He let her fall to the pillows to shudder convulsively in the throes of an orgasm triggered by the euphorics in his saliva. Sometimes he didn't bother to make the feeding pleasurable for the slaves, but sometimes he did. The possibility made them so much more anxious to please.
He lay back on the bed, reveling in the rush of fresh blood through his system, letting the dark-haired slave finish her eager oral ministrations. The door opened and he looked up to see Asim enter the room, his nostrils flaring with hunger at the scent of so much blood. He walked to the foot of the bed and stopped, his narrow eyes taking in the sight of his master and the well-used slaves.
"Ms. Leighton has returned to her hotel,” he said.
"Excellent. What did you think of her, Asim?” Jabril ran his hand along the blond's naked hip, watching his aide's eyes tighten in hunger as the woman rubbed herself against Jabril with a needy moan.
Asim brought his gaze back to the vampire lord with a guilty jerk. “Prideful, mannish. Typical American female."
"But beautiful all the same."
Asim shrugged with studied nonchalance. “Her blood will taste like any other's."
"Perhaps not,” Jabril disagreed. “Raphael has marked her, you know."
"I did not—"
"No, of course you didn't. It was too subtle and old; they've been parted for some weeks, I would imagine. Arrogant of Raphael, to claim such a one and then leave her lying about. He may find it somewhat difficult to claim her again."
Asim's gaze grew vaguely alarmed. “Did you—"
"A small touch. Because she's Raphael's and even that will infuriate him.” He paused and gave his aide a sidelong look. “Have you eaten yet?"
"No, Master."
Jabril feigned surprise. “Well, then. This one's untapped tonight.” He pushed the dark-haired slave away from his now flaccid cock, ignoring her small sounds of protest. Asim's face tightened in poorly concealed resentment, but he gave Jabril a little bow from the waist before grabbing the girl's arm and dragging her out of the room. Jabril smiled slightly and looked down at the blond, running an absent hand over her smooth skin while he thought about Cynthia Leighton. He suspected Asim was wrong about that one. Ms. Leighton's blood would be sweet indeed.
Chapter Eight
She stood on a balcony, a sliver of moon the only light visible on the black sweep of velvet sky. On the beach below, the ocean moved restlessly, unseen in the darkness. Strong arms came around her, pulling her against a solid, thick chest, enveloping her in a hard embrace. She leaned back, closing her eyes in the sweet relief of his presence, the comfort of his arms. His lips brushed her hair and lingered to whisper in her ear.
"Where are you, my Cyn? Where did you go?"
"I'm here. With you."
"No. Say my name, sweet Cyn."
"Raphael,” she whispered.
"So far away, lubimaya. Where are you?"
She frowned at his insistent questioning. What kind of a dream was this anyway? “Texas,” she said, puzzled. “Is that what you want? I'm in Houston, Texas."
His arms tightened around her like steel bands and his breath ran out in a hiss of sound. “Why? Why Texas?"
"A job,” she snapped, irritated now. She tried to push away his arms, but he held her fast.
"What job, Cyn? Who?"
"What do you mean ‘who?’ It's none of your business, but it's Jabril Karim. What does it matter?” She took advantage of the moment to push away from him. “What is this? If you must haunt my dreams, I like the sex ones a lot better."
His arms tugged her back again, his soft, sensuous laughter brushing along the entire length of her body. “Ah. Do you miss me, then, my Cyn?"
That was too cruel. She wasn't enjoying this dream at all anymore. It only made her sad. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Just let me go."
The pillow was damp when the phone's wake-up call jerked her out of sleep, but she convinced herself it was no more than the sweat from a restless night in a strange hotel. She had no
more tears to cry for Raphael, no matter how many times he haunted her dreams. She ran her hands back through her hair, checking the time with a glance. It was a little before eight in the morning. A perfectly God-forsaken time to be awake, but she hoped to see Ramona Hewitt this morning at Child Protective Services. She had left a message the night before, but didn't plan on waiting for a call back that might never come. Instead, she would drop by and hope to speak with the woman for a few minutes. What she needed wouldn't take any longer than that.
An hour later, the elevator doors at Child Protective Services opened to the wail of a small child quickly shushed as his mother shoved something in his mouth with a guilty look around. Was the guilt because the child had cried? Or because the mother was using candy to quiet him at nine o'clock in the morning? The air of the dreary CPS waiting room was heavy with desperation, suffocating in its thickness. But there was nothing she could do for these people. She concentrated on her purpose in coming here and went directly to the reception desk, where a harassed looking young woman sat answering phones.
Cyn waited until the receptionist had finished her call. “I'd like to see Ramona Hewitt,” she said.
"Is she expecting you?” The young woman had a distinct Texas drawl, unfiltered by education or experience.
"No, but I only need—"
"You need an appointment. I can—"
"—a few minutes of her time. Tell her it's about Elizabeth Hawthorn."
The receptionist pursed her lips in irritation, then ran her eyes up and down, taking in Cyn's appearance—the pale blue jeans, artfully faded and worn, the soft leather coat, expensive hair cut, clean, neat ... money. The one thing government bureaucrats had learned to respect. “One moment.” She picked up the phone, punched a few buttons and spoke into the receiver, turning away and doing her best to keep Cyn from hearing. When she turned back, her look of disapproval had only deepened, but she gave a little nod.
"Mrs. Hewitt will see you.” She left unspoken her opinion on the matter and pointed to her left. “Down this hall, first left, second right, last office on the right.” She spoke quickly, then glared at Cyn, daring her to ask for clarification. Cyn murmured her thanks, but she had already ceased to exist for the busy young woman as the phone resumed its insistent trilling.
Ramona Hewitt looked up when Cyn tapped lightly on the open door. She was a fiftyish black woman, with smooth, perfect skin that would look exactly the same when she was eighty as it did today. Long, wiry hair had been gathered into a ruthless braid and wrapped tightly around her head to form a graying crown over a face that bore the lines of an easy smile. She wasn't smiling now. She gave Cyn the same once over as the receptionist and reached the same unflattering conclusion. “You can't be related, I know all her relations and there aren't many, none of ‘em worth a spit, leaving those little girls the way they did."
"Mrs. Hewitt,” Cynthia said in her most polite and professional voice. “My name is Cynthia Leighton. I'm a private investigator—"
"Investigator? You're about eight years too late, aren't you?"
Cyn stopped, confused. “I was hired by Jabril—"
"I've got nothing to say to you then.” Hewitt was already turning away, paging through a fat folder on her desk.
"Did you know Elizabeth ran away?” Cyn interrupted. Hewitt closed the folder and stared at her. Well, that caught her attention, Cyn thought.
The caseworker frowned. “I can't believe that. Lizzie would have called me."
"That's why I'm here. I was told if she talked to anyone it was you. And I want to find her."
Hewitt huffed in disgust. “Why, so you can give her back to that God damned vampire?” It wasn't a curse the way Hewitt said it; it was a literal truth.
"No. Whether you believe it or not, I want to help her. Her and her sister, Mirabelle.” Cyn pulled out a card from her backpack. It was the business card for Jessica's House, a teen shelter in L.A. run by Lucia Shinn, one of Cyn's few close friends. Cyn scribbled Luci's name and personal number, as well as her own cell number, on the back before handing it to the caseworker. “Before you decide I'm one of the bad guys, you might give this person a call. If, after talking to her, you decide that I might actually do some good, my cell's on the card and it's always on. I'll be in Houston until this case takes me somewhere else.” She turned to walk out, but Hewitt's voice stopped her.
"How is Mirabelle?"
Cyn paused, turning back. “Not good. But I'm going to get her out of there too.” She didn't wait for a response. She didn't need one. There was no doubt in her mind about what needed to be done. It would be easier with Hewitt's help, but she'd do it without her if she had to.
Chapter Nine
The Children's Museum of Houston was pretty easy to find. After all, how many buildings could there be with giant yellow pillars and a pagoda looking sign with huge pink letters spelling out “museum” across the front? Not to mention the roving gangs of screaming children who had clearly subdued their chaperones and were now planning a coup of some sort. Cyn leaned against an adjacent building, well back from the crowds, and used the vantage of her six foot height to scan the area for Kelli. She could see why the girl would want to meet here. There were so many people milling around, and so many of them were children, that a petite girl like Kelli could easily be mistaken for one of the older kids. Cyn caught sight of her around back of a fat pillar, her many earrings glinting in the sun as she peered out to search the courtyard for Cyn. Steeling herself against the onslaught, Cyn headed across the plaza, wading through the potential revolutionaries to reach Kelli's side.
"Hey!"
Kelli's face brightened, though her eyes scanned the area around them as if making sure Cyn was alone. “Hi,” she returned. “Let's go inside. We'll pretend you're my mom.” She gave Cyn that wicked grin again.
"Nice. What're you nineteen?"
"Twenty next month."
"Yeah, well I'm not old enough to be your mom. Why're we here?"
Kelli shrugged. “It's noisy and there's always lots of people. Plus Montrose is close by and a lot of the street kids hang around here, especially on Thursday nights. Families get in free and it's pretty easy to slip inside. Anyway, no one will look twice at a single mom and her kid."
Cyn bought tickets and nudged Kelli toward the door. “I don't want to be a single mom. Why can't I have a rich husband instead?"
"I don't know. You look like a single mom to me, like you're out there, you know? Looking for someone."
Great. “So how long've you worked for Jabril?” Cyn asked, changing the subject.
"Almost two years. Since I turned eighteen. A friend of my mom's got me the job. It's kind of creepy with all those dead guys sleeping all day, and the hours are weird, but it's okay."
"I don't think they're actually dead,” Cyn commented. “So what do you do out there?” She started to lift her sunglasses as they went inside, but dropped them back down when she saw the hot colors splashed across every surface in sight.
"Cleaning, you know. Dusting, vacuuming, polishing the silver,” her eyes rolled in disgust. “Pays well, though."
"You work in the big house too, or only the servants’ quarters?"
"Sometimes the big house. During the day. No one's allowed there after dark. Don't want to gross out the big bad vamps by forcing them to look at lowly humans. Not unless you're one of the bimbos, anyway."
"Bimbos?"
"That's what we call the blood slaves Jabril keeps in his basement lair. Not a whole brain cell between them, although what they lack in brain cells, they make up in silicone. Those boobs can't all be real."
Cyn choked back a laugh. That was pretty much what she would have expected from Jabril and his ilk. “So, is there somewhere we can at least sit down? I'm feeling like a giant among the Lilliputians here."
"There's a cafe. It's mostly kid food, but they do have Starbuck's coffee."
"There is a god! Lead the way, child."
Cyn managed to
snag one of the few adult-sized tables in the café and made Kelli hold onto it while she went in search of coffee. It wasn't a real Starbuck's, but it would do.
"So.” She slid onto the bench seat across the table and passed Kelli an icky sweet chocolate chip frappuccino. “What do you know?"
Kelli licked whipped cream from her upper lip before saying, “Like I said, Liz used to get out during the day. Her tutor was clueless and besides, she only came twice a week. There's this one guard who always looks the other way, and a couple of others who were so-so.” She rotated her hand, palm down. “They kinda felt sorry for Liz, being a kid with all those old guys. And, ya’ know, vampires and all."
"They didn't worry she wouldn't come back? I mean Jabril doesn't strike me as an understanding employer."
"Huh, you got that right. But they knew Liz would come back because her sister was there. Plus...” She shrugged. “Liz wouldn't do that to the guys, get them in trouble like that."
"So what'd she do when she was out?"
"Came down here, mostly."
"This museum?” Cyn looked around. If Liz was in the habit of hanging around here, she might be here now.
"Nah, not here here. Just, you know, here. The museum district and Montrose, with the other kids. Well, and Jamie."
"Ah, yes, Jamie. What can you tell me about him?"
"What's to tell? His mom's a druggie, his dad's gone, or dead, who knows? Who cares? Jamie bailed a couple of years ago when he turned sixteen, been on the streets ever since. He spends a night here, a night there. Different shelters, hang outs. You know, like the other kids do. Liz used to give him money for food, sometimes a motel. They were pretty tight."
"So you said. You think Liz is with Jamie?"
"Maybe,” she said, evading Cyn's gaze.
Cyn sighed. “Look, Kelli, someone needs to find her before Jabril does. It would be good if that person was me because I want to help her."
"He's got someone else looking, you know."
Cyn looked at her curiously. “You mean Jabril?"
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