“I keep coming back to why,” Blythe said. “Why are the vampires exposing themselves in this way? They’re apparently so good at hiding and blending in with humans, that they’ve gone unnoticed throughout all of history and could theoretically have gone on doing that for the rest of time. So why would they put up with that?” and she nodded toward the TV screen, where the journalists were still shouting out questions in a barrage that sounded a lot like the distant fire of a hundred AK47s. “The reason would have to be overwhelming. If they’re not lying, if they really are trying to warn humans, then the why makes sense.”
Jake frowned, staring down at his fingers curved over the keyboard of the laptop. “So, revealing themselves is proof that they’re speaking the truth?”
“If they’re speaking the truth. There could be other very good reasons why they’re doing this that they haven’t shared and those reasons could completely change the meaning. Maybe the vampires are our enemy and these others they’re talking about are the good guys, but the vampires want to get in first and ingratiate themselves.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t sound nearly as good as wanting to warn us. We didn’t know about them before tonight. If they really were our enemy, they would have been better off staying hidden and attacking without warning.”
Blythe stared at Jake, absorbing his advanced strategic thinking. Perhaps there was more of her in him than she had thought. “Exactly,” she said at last. “Then there’s Occam’s Razor.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Jake said, screwing up his eyes and forehead as he fought to recall the information.
“All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one,” Blythe said, “and the simplest explanation is that the vampires are telling the truth.”
“So we should believe all this?”
Blythe shook her head. “There’s no proof, nothing to support what they’re saying. So we keep our options open for now.” She rubbed her fingers through her hair, only now realizing how tired she was. She still had blog posts to write before she could sleep, too. “While we’re trying to figure this out, we act as if they are telling the truth, because that has the greatest chance of being right.”
“How do we do that?” Jake asked. He grinned. “I love vampires buttons?”
Blythe smiled. “You and Simone and Eloise all know the drill. You take your panic buttons to school and I don’t care how the other kids tease you about it. You all make sure your cell phones are fully charged and working, twenty-four-seven. You watch your six and each other s’, too. You don’t go anywhere alone. And you kick in your sixth, seventh and eighth senses and walk around with your mental radar on high alert.”
“That’s war-time footing,” Jake pointed out, for all three of them had absorbed Blythe’s lessons on personal security over the years and understood the degrees of threat as well as she did. “If we’re to behave like the vampires really are trying to help us….”
“If they are really trying to help us,” Blythe replied, “then they’re not the enemy we need to watch out for.”
Chapter Four
Patrick tilted the chair back until it was balanced against the wall and rested his head against the plaster. He wasn’t tired, yet he felt utterly drained, light and empty like a reed that had been cored and emptied of its pith. The small sitting room was empty of people except for Kate, Roman and Garrett and the silence was heavenly. Outside the door, Patrick’s extended hearing could pick up the sound of many people still talking among themselves out in the conference room where they had finally finished the conference, five minutes before.
Roman patted his shoulder. “Okay?”
Patrick closed his eyes. “Fine,” he said truthfully.
“Hungry?”
Patrick considered. “For a moment out there, when they asked the question, I could feel the hunger kick in.” He opened his eyes and looked at Roman. “Actually, it was more like a sudden need for a double scotch on the rocks, yet not quite like it used to be when the idea would sit in the middle of my mind and yell at me until I had the drink. This time it was more like…remembering what it was like to feel it. It was distant and after a moment it went away.”
And that was a ground-breaking first for him. The urge to drink, to get high or just pleasantly pissed, had lived in his mind ever since he could remember, sometimes only whispering and sometimes shouting so loudly he couldn’t think and his body separated from his control and went about acquiring alcohol even while his brain watched in disgust and despair.
The question he had been anticipating, that he had been rehearsing answers to for weeks now, had kept that voice alive in his mind, sitting at the far back and silently murmuring its siren song.
The question had been one of the first that the media had asked…which Nial had also anticipated. As soon as Patrick had moved to the center of the cluster of microphones, the question had been shouted at him. “Patrick! Patrick! Does this mean you are a vampire, too?”
Patrick had drawn in a breath and wished mightily for the scotch that would numb the discomfort he was feeling. He concentrated on phrasing the answer, just as he did when delivering lines while aching for a drink. “Have I always been a vampire? No. Garrett was generous enough to turn me, last February.”
He spoke the words deliberately, in a measured cadence, for they were life-changing and deserved an appropriate delivery. And now the truth was out there for the world to see and hear. He had exposed himself, just as the other three had done.
And the need for a drink wasn’t there. It had just…gone.
The follow-up questions had become much easier to answer. He had only to answer truthfully, which made this an easier press conference than some of those he had attended in the past, when his sobriety, the quality of his work and his failed relationships had been mental minefields to be stepped through, while he hid the uglier details from the press so the movie he was promoting wasn’t tarnished.
It had been a relief not to have to weigh the consequences of each word.
Roman had his head tilted to one side as he assessed Patrick, so he sat up, righting the chair properly and gave Roman a warm smile. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Better than fine. I’m not exhausted like I usually am after one of these.”
“I am,” Kate said tiredly. She had her head against Garrett’s shoulder. “I could fall asleep right here and now.”
Garrett glanced at Roman. “Figure it’s safe to try to leave the hotel? We should get her home and to bed.”
“Dominic said he would come and get us when it was clear enough to get to the parking lot,” Roman said. “And he can ‘hear’ if someone is hiding around corners, waiting for us.”
Patrick frowned. “I thought he could only read thoughts, not pick through minds like a dictionary.”
“That’s right,” Roman agreed. “Most people, if they’re hiding from others, can’t think of anything except the need to stay hidden and if they’ll be caught. Dominic says it’s like a neon light flashing in their minds. Very hard to miss.”
Patrick twined his fingers together, uneasy. When Dominic had been staring at his piano yesterday, had he picked up the neon-bright wanting that had dominated Patrick’s mind?
Garrett got to his feet and lifted Kate to hers. “Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day,” he said. “Time for sleep.”
Kate rubbed her eyes. Most of the makeup she had been wearing she had already wiped away. “As long as I don’t have to answer any more personal questions, I don’t care what tomorrow brings.”
The press had been particularly interested about Kate’s relationship with Garrett and Roman. Their interest had turned prurient and Patrick could see they were only just holding themselves back from asking what sex was like with a vampire. Kate had handled their questions with a grace that Patrick wasn’t sure he would have been able to manage if they had been as nosy with him. The one personal question they had hit him, about his reasons for becoming a vampire,
had been hard enough to handle.
The tap on the door was barely there.
“Time to go,” Roman said. He scooped Kate up in his arms and she wound her arms around his neck. “Grab the door, Mikey.”
Garrett didn’t protest over Roman’s use of the diminutive, although Patrick had seem him freeze anyone else who tried to use any version of his name other than “Garrett”. He was an intensely private man, so tonight’s conference would have been as difficult for him as it had been for Patrick. He wondered if Garrett had felt the same touch of relief he had felt, once the truth had been spoken aloud.
Garrett, just like him, just like all of them, would discover tomorrow exactly what the consequences would be for revealing themselves for the world to see.
Patrick didn’t dread the coming day, which was another ground-breaking first in his life.
* * * * *
The inside of the limousine was silent. Kate was resting against Roman’s shoulder and from her breathing Garrett could tell that she was soundly asleep, in the completely relaxed and guard-down state she only ever could achieve when both of them were with her.
That was another factor that had made it imperative he stay in Los Angeles for the revelation. He would sooner stake himself than leave Kate and Roman alone to deal with what he knew would be a pack of rampaging bloodhounds after prey once the announcement was made.
Roman looked at him over the top of her blonde hair and gave a small smile that Garrett had no trouble interpreting.
“Yes, it’s done now,” Garrett replied.
“No regrets?” Roman murmured.
“I haven’t had any regrets since I kissed you in front of the cameras,” Garrett said flatly. “Life is good and will only get better. The Others are going to make it interesting, that’s all.”
He looked down as a muffled electronic buzz sounded.
“Shit, that’s her cell phone,” Roman said softly and furiously. “Dig it out of her pocket, before it wakes her.”
“Too late,” Kate said sleepily and without opening her eyes, she slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out the phone. She brought it up to eye level and only then opened her eyes. She thumbed the screen one-handed, her eyes narrowed.
Then they snapped wide open and she sat up. “Fuck!”
Garrett leaned over her shoulder and read the text message there.
Gotta cancel tomorrow, Katie. Sorry. I’ll have my assistant call.
“Frederick Lord cancelled,” he said. “That’s not good.”
Kate hefted the phone in her fingers like she was weighing either the phone or the implications behind the cancelled meeting.
“How much was he talking about?” Roman asked.
“Fifteen million,” Kate said absently. “It’s the fact that he cancelled. He’s not going to invest now. He’s spooked.”
She didn’t say why he had been provoked into pulling his money from her next movie. The press conference and the revelation were the only reasons he would contact her at this time of night.
“The timing could be coincidental,” Roman pointed out.
Garrett knew Kate wouldn’t believe that any more than he did. “Want me to talk to some people?” he asked her. “They’ll be non-Hollywood types and they’ll have money to spare.”
Kate looked up at him, her eyes wide, letting him see the soft vulnerability she hid from everyone except Roman. She looked like a hurt child. “If the land of make-believe and fantasy can’t accept me—us—then the staid old world financial market is going to run away screaming.”
Which was perfectly true, but he wouldn’t confirm it. He wouldn’t add to her hurt. So he kissed her instead, putting all his heart into it, letting his lips and his body show that she wasn’t alone in this, that at least one person did accept her and her life, completely and utterly.
Roman pressed up against her other side, his mouth against her soft cheek, his hand around Garrett’s neck, holding them both close to him in wordless reassurance.
He couldn’t hurt Kate by speaking the truth any more than Garrett could.
Chapter Five
Patrick usually ignored the television. He only had one in the house, a small flat screen he kept in his office and used as a giant computer monitor. He rarely watched live TV and avoided the Hollywood news shows with active distaste.
He was personally acquainted with most of the news being reported, anyway. The paparazzi were camped outside his front fence, three deep at times, creating a steady murmur of noise that washed over the fence, telling him he wasn’t alone even though there was no one else in the house.
On the third day after the press conference, Dominic Castellano arrived at the house and was passed through the security gate by Billy, as Patrick had directed. He was the first live visitor since Kate’s limousine had dropped Patrick at home that night. Whatever the reason for Dominic’s visit, it had to be compelling, because fighting a path through the media took real effort.
Patrick, alerted by Billy’s text, went to the kitchen door where Billy would have directed Dominic to enter the house, away from the prying camera lenses.
Dominic nodded hello as he looked around the kitchen curiously.
“Nial sent you?” Patrick asked. He stayed carefully far enough away that even if he forgot and breathed, he still wouldn’t absorb the man’s pheromones.
“Kate did.”
“She couldn’t email?”
“Not about this. And she can’t come herself, for the same reason I don’t think you could step outside the gate.” Dominic studied him. “Kate wants to know if you’ve spoken to anyone in the industry in the last three days.”
Patrick raised a brow. “She couldn’t ask me that on email?”
Dominic shook his head. “It’s complicated. Have you?”
“I’ve called a few people, sure.” Networking, schmoozing, staying in touch…Patrick barely had to think about it anymore. He did it instinctively. Maintaining friendships was as vital an art as extemporizing.
“Have they called back?” Dominic insisted.
Something squeezed in Patrick’s chest. “Not yet,” he said as lightly as he could. “That’s not unusual. They lead busy lives.”
Dominic crossed his arms. “It’s not unusual for anyone in Hollywood to leave Patrick Sauvage dangling for a call back for three days?”
Patrick looked at him, startled. It was the first time that Dominic had ever shown the slightest understanding of Patrick’s stature in the industry. It wasn’t exactly awe that he was expressing, though. It was a cynical knowledge that Patrick would have expected a long-term name in the industry to show, not a formerly deaf South American immigrant.
“I repeat,” Patrick said patiently, “they have busy lives. I just outed myself on national television. They’re going to hesitate about calling back. They’re going to think it over. We knew that would happen. Besides, I’m not shopping for a new movie right now, anyway.”
“Do they know that?” Dominic asked. “Try calling someone. Try really hard.”
“Why?” Patrick asked, feeling a thread of wariness.
“Just try. Kate is curious to know what happens when you do.”
Patrick lifted his hands and let them fall. “Fine. I’ll call Jim.”
“Jim?”
“James Cameron,” Patrick amended. “I’ve been in his submersible more than once.” In fact, Jim had taken him on a private tour over the wreck of the Titanic one memorable summer and despite never having worked together, they were good enough friends that the understanding was unspoken. When a role came up in one of Jim’s movies that was good for Patrick, it would be his.
He’d left his phone in the living room, so he turned on his heel with an impatient sigh and headed back to pick it up. He was surprised to find that Dominic had followed him into the room. Patrick stayed by the sofa and dialed.
The phone rang out and the impersonal voicemail message kicked in.
Patrick redialed and this time the phon
e went straight to voicemail.
Frowning, he worked his way through his Contacts and found the direct line to Cameron’s office and tried that. When the line went unanswered, he dialed the main line for the office.
The phone was answered immediately.
“Carol, hi,” Patrick said, injecting pleasantness into his voice. “This is Patrick Sauvage. I’m trying to reach Jim. He’s not answering any of his phones.”
“Oh, hi, Mr. Sauvage!” Carol said brightly. She was a bubbling strawberry blonde with riotous curls and dimples that had fooled many people into thinking she was a walk-over. However, she had a spine of steel and no one got past her if she didn’t want them to. “Mr. Cameron is at home today. Did you try the house phone?”
“I did. Maybe the voicemail kicked in before he could untangle himself. Could you connect me with the house again?”
“Of course. Just a moment, Mr. Sauvage.” The line went dead while she did whatever she did to connect to the other phone. Then Patrick heard it ringing.
And ringing.
No voicemail picked up the call. It just rang endlessly, the buzz almost hypnotic.
Patrick hung up, jamming his thumb hard against the button. He glanced at Dominic. The man was watching the piano again, like it might leap out of the corner and take him down if he didn’t monitor it every second.
Patrick pushed aside the doubts and worry that were building like a knot in his chest and stomach. He thought for a moment, then searched his contacts again and dialed another number.
This time the phone was answered after a dozen rings, which was just enough for Patrick to swear under his breath. “Sandy,” he said. “It’s Pat.”
Sandy Ackerman had directed one of Patrick’s early movies. He was a classic film director and unpopular in Hollywood because he wouldn’t play the political games, which he called A-Grade Bullshit, so work didn’t come his way as often as his talent deserved.
The silence that followed Patrick’s greeting was heavy and Patrick’s heart started to thud of its own accord. “Sandy?” he prompted.
Blood Revealed Page 5