Crave

by Karen E. Taylor

  “I’d like it a lot better if you could teach me that little trick you entered with.” Mitch sat down and leaned back casually in his chair. “How on earth do you do it?”

  Victor gave me a puzzled look. “Deirdre should be able to teach you. It merely requires concentration and practice—years, or more properly, decades of practice. I wish I could take the time to teach you, but I’m afraid my business here is not pleasant and my time is short. I am needed back at the Cadre before tomorrow evening.” Victor stood up and brushed at his jacket again. “And, although I hate to interrupt your honeymoon, the two of you must accompany me.”

  “Must we?” Mitch still sat in his relaxed pose, but the glitter of his eyes and the set of his jaw betrayed his animosity.

  Victor glared coldly at him, and leaned over the chair, his posture threatening, his tone of voice even more patronizing than usual. “You do remember when you promised to perform a service for the Cadre at our discretion? Well, quite simply, Greer, we are now calling in our marker, and as you value your life and Deirdre’s, you will not refuse. A private jet is waiting for us at the airport and we will leave in an hour and a half. Be there.”

  Victor turned to me and the anger in his eyes faded, replaced by something that could have resembled tenderness. Taking my hand, he kissed it; then he spun around and was gone.

  Mitch looked where Victor had been standing and shook his head. “Do you suppose he’s actually gone?”

  I laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine, my love. Shall we close up now and go home and pack?”

  “Just drop everything and do as we were ordered? Give me one good reason why we should have anything to do with Lange.”

  “I can give you several reasons, Mitch. We did promise to do the service for the Cadre, whatever it may be. I know that we were hoping never to have anything else to do with them, but so be it.” He nodded reluctantly, and I continued. “And Victor is right about the bond between the three of us, there is no way to deny that.” I stood up and smiled at him, reaching out for his hands. “Plus, if you stay in his good favor, he might even teach you his little parlor trick. I have no inclination to dissolve myself. And even if I did, I have no idea how to go about it.”

  “Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me. But you’ll have to break the news to Pete.” He pulled me to him and kissed me, his lips cool against mine. Then he held me out and studied my face. “Deirdre, if whatever we are called to do is dangerous,” and he gave a small humorless laugh, “as I’m sure it will be, I want you to promise that you’ll let me bear the brunt of it. Don’t take any chances; I don’t think I want to exist eternally without you.”

  “Nor I, without you.”

  “So then, we’re agreed.”

  “No,” I shook my head with a small smile, “not at all. But let’s not fight until we know what the situation is.”

  “Okay, I guess I can live with that, but only for a while. And we’d better hurry, I’d hate to keep Mr. Lange waiting.”

  We made it home, and were almost through with our packing when I finally asked, “Why do you hate Victor so much?”

  Mitch looked up at me from his suitcase. “It’s not really Victor, you know; I could almost like him if it weren’t for . . .” He paused for a minute, staring at me. Then he looked away. “It’s the whole hierarchy of the Cadre. They sit in their underground warren, spinning their devious little webs, meting out their arbitrary justice.” He folded his last pair of jeans, crammed them on the top of the suitcase and snapped it shut. “They almost succeeded in making me crazy. They would’ve left me in that institution for the rest of my life and not thought a thing about it. They could very easily have doomed you to a hundred years of starvation and never once bothered to ascertain the fairness of the sentence. They’re immoral, inhuman parasites, living off of innocent people and I wouldn’t care if the entire lot died tomorrow.”

  Well, I told myself, as I watched him stack our cases by the bedroom door, you asked for it. But I said nothing, and walked across the room, picked up the phone and dialed Pete’s home number.

  “Pete,” I said when he answered, “it’s Dorothy. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  “Leaving again, are you?” He sounded more amused than angry.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  “And didn’t I know it when that Vincent chap turned up asking for you. I suppose you’ll be taking your husband with you too, leaving me with no help at all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dottie, darlin’, you know if you didn’t own half the pub, I’d be firing you right now.”

  “I’m sure you would, Pete. I’ll call you when we get there.”

  “I’d appreciate that. But don’t you worry, I’ll do fine.”

  “Thank you, Pete. You take care now.”

  “And the same to you, my girl. Godspeed.”

  I hung up the phone, stood for a minute with my back to Mitch and wiped away a few tears. A horn beeped on the street and still I didn’t move until Mitch came up behind me and wrapped an arm around my neck, kissing me softly on the ear. “We’d better get moving, Deirdre, the taxi’s here. Are you ready?”

  I nodded and we went downstairs. We locked the house, loaded the boot of the taxi and made it to the airport with five minutes to spare.

  The plane Victor had chartered was a small, sleek Gulfstream; Mitch and I were the only passengers evident. The seats were plush and comfortable and I settled in by one of the windows. Mitch sat next to me with a grim smile, outwardly relaxed and at ease, but I could feel the keyed-up tenseness of his muscles as he stretched his legs out. Even though Victor was nowhere in sight, the plane began its acceleration down the runway almost immediately and made a smooth leap from the ground into the night sky.

  My sigh from the window was easily audible; Mitch reached over and took my hand. “Nervous?”

  “No,” I said softly, turning to him, “not at all. I love to fly. But I was just wondering what it would feel like without the plane, how it would feel to just be picked up by the wind and carried away.” I gave a small laugh to compensate for the emotional outburst. “I guess we would find out soon enough if we were to crash.”

  “Do you think we’d survive?”

  “You know, I have no idea.”

  Mitch was silent for a while. “My guess is we would. Unless,” and he chuckled a little, “we happened to land on a picket fence somewhere.”

  I studied the view from the window. “I think we’re safe from that. We’re over the ocean already. But I suppose if you really want to know, we could ask Victor. I wonder where he is.”

  Mitch gave a noncommittal grunt. “What is it with you and him, anyway? All of a sudden the two of you seem pretty chummy. You jump to his commands, express concern over his whereabouts. Personally, I don’t know why he even bothers with the damn plane at all; why doesn’t he just turn into a cloud and float back?”

  “Mitch,” I turned from the window again and looked into his eyes, “don’t start. There is nothing between Victor and me. I married you and intend to stay married to you. I’m here to fulfill my commitment, nothing else. After that, we’re free to do whatever we like, go wherever we want.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged, giving me a boyish grin, so at odds with his silvered hair. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like the guy.”

  “I think you have made that more than evident.” My mouth twisted in a dry smile. “But,” and I reached up, kissing him on the cheek, “just put up with it for a while, for my sake.”

  Mitch returned my kiss, then moved away from me and laughed. “I will say one thing for Lange, though,” he gestured around us, “he sure knows how to travel. This is quite a setup; how much do you suppose this put him back?”

  “Actually, Mitch,” the door to the cockpit opened and Victor came out, “I own this plane. And, believe me, the convenience far outweighs the cost.” He went to the back of the compartment and opened another door. “Now that we are safely airborne, may I off
er you a drink?”

  Before Mitch and I even had a chance to agree, Victor had poured drinks and brought them over: red wine for me and a scotch on the rocks for Mitch. When I saw Victor’s choice for Mitch I started to laugh.

  “What?” Mitch looked at me after taking a long drink. “Is something funny?”

  “No, but Victor has a surprisingly good memory. He actually remembered what you drink when you’re angry.”

  “Oh,” Mitch shrugged sheepishly, “I see.”

  “Not that you don’t have the right to be angry.” Victor’s voice was smooth and conciliatory. “After all, you’ve hardly been away for more than a few months, and I have called you back. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I want to assure you that this trip is necessary. And it was not just my decision to call you, it was a unanimous vote from all the founders.”

  Mitch gave a snort. “And what could possibly be so difficult for that esteemed group to require our involvement?”

  “We have our reasons, Greer, as I will explain, when you give me the chance.” Victor gave him a warning glare, then turned to me. “In the first place, at least six murders have occurred that lead us to believe that we are faced with a dangerous rogue vampire. Since we became acquainted with you, Deirdre, most of us have come to the realization that we have been weakened by our ritualized training.

  “You,” Victor nodded at me, “have the advantage of being able to approach situations such as this from a fresh viewpoint. Being a rogue of a sort yourself, we hope that you can outthink our culprit, or at least anticipate his moves. In addition, Mitch, there is your police training—a highly valuable asset in this situation. Although, I must admit that your transformation has come as something of a surprise. We had hoped that you could cover the daytime and root this vampire out of his lair. But I suspect your new skills will only enhance your old detective instincts.”

  Mitch shrugged. “And?”

  Victor looked down at his hands for a moment. “And as you know, the Cadre has strict rules governing the killing of one of our own. None of us can attempt to catch and kill this vampire, without incurring the impact of our laws. But you two, since you are not officially part of the organization, can be given special dispensation in this one case only.”

  “How convenient,” Mitch drawled. “I remember it otherwise.”

  Victor bared his white teeth in a threatening smile. “Different circumstances, Mitch. We’re not talking here about an established house founder, but about an undisciplined murderer.”

  “And Max wasn’t?”

  “Max would have been dealt with our way. Let’s not begin to rehash a situation that, regretful as it may be, is now over and done with.”

  Hearing the pain in Victor’s voice, pain not diminished by the time that had passed since Max’s death, I looked over at Mitch and pleaded with my eyes for him to drop the subject. Then I took his hand in mine and turned again to Victor. “All of that seems reasonable to me, Victor. We will do our best to help you.”

  “Thank you, Deirdre. I knew you would. But I’m not quite through with the story. And this part may not be pleasant for you, my dear, but it is the most telling reason we wanted you.” Victor stood up, opened the overhead compartment, and brought out a large manila envelope. “The murders began to occur shortly after you and Mitch left town. Obviously, you personally cannot be held accountable for the deaths, but it seems that you are involved. All of the victims were last seen at the Ballroom of Romance.”

  “What a surprise.” Mitch gave a small, derisive snort. The Ballroom had belonged to Max, been passed on to my ownership through his estate. And it carried nothing but bad memories for us both.

  Victor sat back down and passed the envelope to Mitch. He took it, but did not open it. Instead he set it down on the seat next to him, as if leaving it unopened could delay the inevitable decision to cooperate with the Cadre. “You’re involved with the Ballroom, too, Victor,” Mitch said evenly. “After all, you’ve been managing it for Deirdre in her absence.”

  “Actually, I turned it back over to Fred. After you left town, there was no need to keep him in exile and he does a good job.”

  “But,” I said, “Fred is not a rogue.”

  “That is true,” Victor chuckled, shaking his head, “and Fred, even with all his faults, is definitely not responsible for the deaths. We have,” he cleared his throat, “screened all the Cadre members, none of them are involved.”

  “So where does the Ballroom enter into this?” I did not really need to ask; from the sickening twist of my stomach, I realized suddenly that I knew who the rogue was. I glanced over at Mitch, and his grim nod confirmed my thoughts. But neither of us said a word, we just let Victor continue.

  “Ever since the unfortunate occurrences there, rumors have abounded that the club is haunted.” Victor raised an eyebrow in a half-smirk. “Humans, who can figure them out? Business is better than it’s ever been since the rumors started, even the murders haven’t kept them away, but only added to the mystique.”

  “Haunted?” Victor’s choice of words threw me off balance. “How could it be haunted? Max is gone.” Mitch looked away from me, and drained his scotch, tensing at the tone of sadness in my voice. I couldn’t help myself; not a day had gone by since his true death that I did not miss him.

  “Deirdre,” Victor’s voice wavered only slightly, “it’s not Max who haunts the Ballroom of Romance. It is Larry Martin.”

  Chapter 3

  “Of course,” Victor went on, “haunting is not the proper terminology, since our murderer is not a ghost. Apparently, as they say, reports of his death were greatly exaggerated and this, too, seems to involve you both. And although we know who the rogue is, we do not know why he is now a vampire,” Victor’s voice became stern, “or why his transformation went unreported.”

  I shook my head and sighed. We should never have gone away, should not have allowed Larry to prey upon the city. And now six people were dead due to our selfishness. I squirmed in my seat, avoiding Victor’s gaze. We were almost as guilty as the rogue himself. “Sins of omission,” I murmured.

  Mitch got up, went to the bar, and poured himself another scotch. Draining it in one drink, he turned around and looked at Victor, who rose from his seat deliberately and slowly to meet his gaze. Except for the smooth, low hum of the engines, the plane drifted in silence, a silence at first merely uncomfortable, then growing fearsome, threatening, as they continued to stare at each other. The muscles in Mitch’s neck seemed to rise to the surface his skin, twisting and coiling. Victor’s breathing accelerated, small drops of blood-tinged sweat began to appear on his forehead. And I was rooted in my seat, unable to move, unable to speak. The tension in the compartment expanded, growing so great that it seemed the plane must explode. I held my breath, suspended between their power, caught in their gazes like a fly in a web. Then suddenly, when I felt that neither of them could sustain a second more, Victor threw his head back and laughed, joined surprisingly by Mitch only a second later.

  “Touché, Mitch,” Victor rasped with a tone of admiration in his voice. “And I am not easily impressed. So, now that that’s out of the way, will you help us?”

  Mitch continued to laugh, a thick, harsh laughter I had never heard from him before. He stopped and he smiled. His canines were elongated and his eyes glowed with what seemed to me an inhuman passion. “With the greatest of pleasure, Victor.”

  I sat silent for the remainder of the flight, not joining in the tentative camaraderie that seemed to have been established between Victor and Mitch. Instead, I drained two bottles of wine in the absolutely futile attempt to block out the sight of the two of them, both so powerful and terrifying. Every so often, I caught Mitch’s reflected gaze in my window, but I kept my eyes on the night sky above us and the ocean below.

  Mitch had finally opened the manila envelope and glanced at the pictures within. He made a move to hand them to me, but I shook my head and looked away. He shrugged at my seeming l
ack of interest, then turned back to Victor. “These are police photos. Do you mind if I ask how you got them?”

  “We have friends in high places. You didn’t seriously think that an organization such as the Cadre could exist without some local support.”

  “I never heard of you.”

  Victor laughed. “High places, Mitch. I hope I give no offense in saying that the knowledge wasn’t allowed to filter down to the level at which you worked. But these same friends were partly responsible for our calling you in. You are a highly respected member of the department.”

  “Were, you mean. I can hardly resume my regular job now.”

  I flinched slightly at the regret in Mitch’s voice, but Victor didn’t seem to notice.

  “While your return has not been discussed officially, I’m sure that something could be arranged should you desire it. But first things first; I think that you owe me an explanation about our rogue.”

  I did not elaborate as Mitch told the story of Larry and how we suspected he had been transformed, how the gunshot from Mitch that had “killed” Larry had also punctured my shoulder and our blood had been mixed, how Larry must have slipped out of the morgue before the mandatory autopsy could be performed, and how the disappearance of the body would just seem like another lost piece of paper in an overwhelmed system of police red tape. Mitch and I had never spoken much of those circumstances, but it was obvious that he had spent a lot of time in thought about Larry. Not that I was surprised, since it was Larry’s nearly fatal attack on him that caused me to change Mitch into what he was. I suspected that he had nightmares about that night; I myself had been haunted for over a century with the details of my own change. But at least, I thought, with a twisted smile, Mitch has the advantage of knowing who to blame.

  “Deirdre?” Mitch’s concerned voice brought me out of my reverie, and I noticed that we were alone in the compartment again. “We’re about ready to land. And,” he checked his watch, “we’ve got only about an hour before dawn. Let’s hope they’re not too stacked up or we’ll have to spend the day in here.”