Adduné (The Vampire's Game)

by Wendy Potocki

  “Well, you’ll fit right in because from what I’ve heard, very few people in that club begin and end their evenings on their feet!”

  “Then let’s make a toast,” Miranda said raising her glass and clinking it against Tiffany’s. “May we always find the right partners!”

  “Amen, to that one, chickie! And may they always look as good standing up, as they do lying down!”

  CHAPTER 24

  Rachel sat at her desk reading her once-favorite fashion magazine. She used to love to look at the pictures of beautiful women and the elegant haute couture. Now, none of it held any interest for her. The women seemed so dull and boring. They were little starving insignificant nothings, while her life had taken on an importance that entered the realms of extraordinary. She was now the exciting one and the one-dimensional stick figures on the pages seemed lost and rather pathetic. They had so much to live up to and for what? The chance to spend their life trying to fit in with a fashion editor’s concept of beauty. Rachel knew all about the trap of trying to please others while lying to herself, but she wouldn’t fall into it again. She was who she was and loved it. She could do, be, and have anything she wanted now. Most of the times that meant having Peter between her legs.

  She closed her eyes tightening her pelvic floor with a steel-like grip. She relived last night and the delicious pleasure of him sliding into her and chafing her raw. He had been delighted with the way she’d handled things and had awarded her the best way he knew how. She’d thought she’d lose her mind, but all she did was come and come again in a series of multiple orgasms that grew in fervor and ecstasy. She wondered if she could recapture a bit of the enjoyment by pleasuring herself at her desk. It was late in the afternoon and not much was doing. At least the opening was over – and Perrone was gone. Things had slowed down to a crawl.

  She slid her skirt up and rubbed her forefinger against her throbbing clitoris. She had no doubt it was healed and no longer red from being torn into last night. She rubbed her forefinger on it and then slid two fingers into her vagina. She moaned as she felt her sexual desire heighten and begin to overtake her boredom that came from being at work. She hoped no one would interrupt her. Through half-closed eyes she saw Detective John Reiser in the distance. He was smiling and walking straight towards her.

  She withdrew her fingers and smoothed her skirt back in place. He stood before her desk looking like a cat that swallowed a canary. He was cocky – too self-assured, but she liked the touch of arrogance – it suited him well.

  “Detective Reiser, this is a surprise. Still hot on the trail of that copper nail?”

  Reiser smiled more widely. She tried to imagine a set of long incisors inset in that set of pearly white teeth. She could make it happen if played his cards right. She had sensed a camaraderie, but how deep did his affections go? She let the drama proceed, determined to go with the flow.

  He rubbed at the tip of his hairline with his thumbnail. He was here on official business. Still she looked even better now than she had the first two times he’d seen her. That second meeting had done something to him. After it, he found he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Rachel had captured his imagination.

  He’d thought about her and nothing else and here was the excuse he needed to talk with her. He had to make his intentions clear. He doubted this girl was particular about who she bedded. She looked the wild type – the kind of girl you find sliding upside down on poles. He wondered how on earth she’d landed a job at a museum of all places.

  He really didn’t care. She might be an educated freak, but freak she was and Reiser’s body was burning to find out how freaky she could get. He liked exploring the dark side and this girl looked like she lived there. He ran his tongue over his teeth imagining what it would be like to be with Rachel Abbott.

  “Yeah, well, that clue seems to have disappeared.”

  “Really? Isn’t it odd for a copper nail to disappear into thin air or am I interpreting you too literally?”

  “It isn’t odd when the person that was carrying it around got himself evaporated along with it. In other words, you heard me correctly.”

  Rachel grinned remembering Perrone and his introduction into the world of darkness. While some are initiated, others are destroyed. Perrone was in the latter grouping and Rachel had been delighted with him getting his due. He had thought himself so smart and so unstoppable, but in the end, he’d screamed just like a little girl. She heard herself laughing and couldn’t stop. She leaned back in her chair and looked up at Reiser.

  “You know, I like your hair. It’s getting longer, isn’t it?”

  “You’re very perceptive, Rachel,” he said leaning down and tapping his finger on her desk. “Or do you prefer Ms. Abbott?”

  “I prefer first names. So much less formal. Especially amongst friends.”

  “That’s what I was thinking ‘cause I am a friend that…” he said walking around the edge of her desk. Rachel swiveled her chair and faced him, “… only wants to become closer and on more intimate terms.”

  He knelt down and put his hands on her exposed knees. She parted her legs allowing him to glimpse her crotch that was craving the touch of his tongue. He stared a moment and then looked up into her eyes that had changed into an intense purple color over the last few days – no doubt with the aid of contact lenses. He could care less. He was still thinking about the lack of underwear. He wondered if she always walked around like that or had lost them to a fellow employee in the men’s room.

  He took a quick look around. They were alone. He put his hands on her knees and pushed them wider apart. He ran his tongue along the inside of Rachel’s knees and began moving up her thigh. He kissed the inside of one luscious, silky thigh and then the other. Rachel leaned back spreading her legs further apart. She was enjoying the ritual of sex. Velvet’s meowing broke the spell. He stepped out of the shadows and onto Rachel’s lap. Rachel hunched her shoulders. Reiser stopped and reluctantly stood. He swept up Velvet in his arms. He rubbed him under his chin and heard the purring erupt from within his throat.

  “Perrone’s why I came down. I assumed you haven’t heard, but my partner seems to have gotten himself lost. Wife called in the station this morning and is raising holy hell about his not coming home last night. My guess is that he doesn’t want to be around someone that hysterical, but then it’s only a theory.”

  Rachel demurely pulled her skirt down and crossed her legs. She was sizing Reiser up and he was passing her test with flying colors. He was dreamy – the kind of man you wouldn’t get sick of seeing for about three of four centuries. She laughed at her own joke.

  “I think it’s a good theory. It’s better than any Per … Per … whatever his name was came up with.”

  “How soon they forget,” Reiser replied sitting on the edge of her desk. He was still lavishly showering scratches under the chin and behind the ear of the black cat settling in his arms.

  “And you thought I needed to know because …?”

  “Because that stupid dick was hassling you – giving you problems that you didn’t deserve, and because you couldn’t possibly have known he flew the coop, now could you?”

  “Does that mean I’m no longer a suspect of importing and stealing copper nails?”

  “Well, since I’m now lead detective on that case, I’d say you’ve been officially cleared. However, did you ever hear the expression ‘When one door closes, another opens?’ ”

  “Ehmmm, I’d say about a million times. Mostly in greeting cards.”

  “It’s pertinent because this museum was the last place Detective Anthony Perrone was seen alive. He attended that exhibit opening. Don’t suppose you knew that?”

  Rachel paused as if thinking. She snapped her fingers sharply.

  “You know, now that you mention it, I do believe I saw him.”

  “Really?” Reiser countered easily. He gently placed Velvet on Rachel’s desktop. The cat immediately jumped into the lap of his mistress as Reiser pulled
out a pad and pen. “That sounds like something I need to take note of. Now when exactly did you see him?”

  “Last night.”

  “That’s close enough. And do you remember when you didn’t see him anymore?”

  “Hmmm, that’s a tough one. I’d say, last night.”

  “There you go, then! It seems we’ve got this narrowed down to last night and all thanks to you. I think I’ve done my job,” he said replacing the pad in his pocket. “It’s a real shame that wife of his didn’t accompany him. If she did, she could have joined him. Bet then she’d know what happened.”

  “I don’t know about that, John. I have an inkling his wife would only be good for road kill.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said getting up. He withdrew a business card from his pocket and perched it on Rachel’s keyboard.

  “I’m giving you this partly to satisfy your co-workers that are peeking around the corner and expecting me to give you that card and tell you to call me if you remember anything else, and partly because I wrote my cell phone and home address on the back. As I said, Rachel, I’m hoping to get to know you and that sweet pussy of yours much better. You have yourself a good day.”

  Rachel held the business card up, her teeth biting the rim. She watched his tall, lean body move away from her. He seemed to be in no hurry, but she was. She had no doubt she would be taking him up on his offer. Her pussy was just crying out for an introduction.

  CHAPTER 25

  Reginald sat in his shadow-filled office drinking a cup of tea. It was late – later than he’d stayed up in years. All he did these past few days is make up excuses as to why he was working late and coming in early. Bonnie and Cheryl both thought it was work that kept him here, but the truth was that he didn’t want to go home. When he went home, he felt vulnerable – unsafe. And then he’d fall asleep and when he did, he had another one of those dreams. He felt exhausted – drained by them. He remembered the day he’d spoken to Figgs, and only wished he could replay the talk in the kitchen. For now he truly understood what Figgs had been talking about. He understood how dreams could affect your waking life so that you felt like a carcass that had been stripped clean.

  Last night … last night had been the worst yet. Those hollow, soulless black pits of hell watching him. Judging him. Reginald trembled reliving the sheer terror he felt from being watched from the inside. The worse part about it was not being able to talk to Bonnie about the dreams – how they’d progressed from making him feel uncomfortable to being buried by a suffocating terror.

  She’d noticed him twisting and turning – only to wake up in a cold sweat. He’d always been a sound sleeper who barely moved from the time he fell asleep until his alarm clock went off. No more. He’d even screamed. In the morning, she’d calmly asked him what was wrong, but he’d said nothing. What could he tell her? That he thought she had invited a vampire in and now he could have access to the home and Reginald anytime he wanted? Not the sort of thing a respected barrister would say. No sane man would.

  The last conversation with Miranda passed through his mind. He had made good on finding the appraisal and having Cheryl mail it out. He had been relieved that Miranda appeared to be doing well, but it didn’t help to shake off the feeling of impending doom. How long would she remain untouched and unharmed? And why was she asking about that blasted egg? Miranda never could leave well enough alone.

  He yawned hoping the tea would revive him. Maybe it was the idleness of sitting around that was getting to him. His office had never spooked him before, but then neither had his home. Now? He felt like a bear being driven straight towards a trap that would break his leg and hold him pinned in its steely teeth. He took a long swallow hoping to stop obsessing on tragedy. It wasn’t going to help him or Miranda to keep doing so. He stayed at the office precisely to escape lingering on these negative thoughts and here he was dwelling on them. He decided to try and work on one of his active cases. They were all in good shape, but it wouldn’t hurt to look over everything one more time.

  He got up to retrieve one of the files. It didn’t matter which one. He’d go in alphabetical order until they all had been given a corrective eye. He pressed himself up to his feet, feeling the fatigue down to the crux of his feet. His arches felt unstable – as if they’d give out and collapse at any moment. He placed his hand in the small of his back, adjusting himself and feeling oh, so very old. It was the lack of sleep and the constant worry doing it. It felt like he’d aged one hundred years in the past couple of weeks. Where had his energy gone?

  He willed himself to move forward - shuffling a few steps along his plush diamond-patterned carpeting when he heard the faint ring of his phone. He debated about just letting it slide through to his voicemail. In all likelihood, it could wait until normal business hours. Still, he was here and it might be a better distraction than a case he knew by heart. It might even be Bonnie … or Miranda. Perhaps she’d encountered problems receiving Cheryl’s email. If so, he’d have to resend it. It wouldn’t be a problem since he knew where Cheryl kept her password. They’d long ago agreed on this policy, and ever since had it taped to the underside of her desk.

  There was always the possibility that Miranda might be calling about another matter – or maybe just to say hello. It would be good to hear her voice. He used a fast trot as if it were a certainty that ring was to be its last.

  “Reginald Charles.”

  “Mr. Charles?” came the unfamiliar voice that sounded aged and withered – like a violin string that had been stretched too long and too thin.

  “Yes,” he answered confused by the stranger’s voice on the other end. Perhaps it was a mistake taking the call for it definitely wasn’t Miranda, nor anyone else with whom he regularly conversed. This woman sounded elderly and perhaps not in good health. It was most likely a new client seeking legal assistance. She may have been recommended. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to listen to an explanation of why she was seeking legal counsel. He’d tell her to call back in the morning and make an appointment or refer her to someone else. That was it. He would just refer her to one of his esteemed colleagues and friends.

  “It’s Mrs. Figgs … Beatrice. I don’t know if you remember me …”

  Mrs. Figgs? Of course he remembered the caretaker’s wife, just not her voice. He didn’t think he’d ever spoken to her over the phone. She sounded so different in person, but perhaps it wasn’t the telephone causing the disparity. After all, her husband had recently committed suicide. That could explain things. No wonder there was no enthusiasm in her tone. Now that he had a name, he had a reason for her sounding exhausted. It took time to get over devastating events – and the death of a spouse had to be one of the worst. As bad as the death of a best friend.

  Arthur! Oh, why did you have to go and die?

  “Of course, I remember you Beatrice. I am so sorry that I never got a chance to personally convey my condolences to you about the loss of your husband. I trust the flowers arrived?”

  “Yes, they were lovely. I’m sure William appreciates that you took the time to send ‘em …”

  Her voice trailed off and then started up again – as if her mind was meandering. Perhaps she was just adjusting what she needed to say.

  “I’m sorry. I hadn’t expected you to be there this late. Had no idea a successful man like yourself still burned the midnight oil. And here I was prepared to leave a message.” She started making unintelligible sounds – as if she were carrying on a private conversation with herself – a conversation that Reginald was not meant to hear. In a few moments, she remembered the person on the other end of the line.

  “I don’t know that I want to speak to you … maybe it’d be better if I hang up. Call you back when you’re not there.”

  Reginald was tired and it was such an illogical, ridiculous thing to say. Her remark caught him off balance and he found himself becoming irritated. He wasn’t known for being impatient, but with the lack of sleep and those horrible dreams, it
was understandable. If she didn’t want to talk to him, why call? Well, if she only wanted his voicemail, he could easily remedy that situation. He could crash the receiver down and she could call back. This time, he would ignore the ringing and have it slide into his voicemail. She could leave her message and leave him the hell alone.

  Reginald caught himself. He mentally berated his internal tirade and erased his bad humor from his thoughts by rubbing his temples. It was habit he had. He felt the soothing kneading of his fingers working. He didn’t like losing his temper with people – especially recent widows. He needed to be kind. Patient and compassionate – just how he’d always been in the past. It was part of being a professional. She was doing the best she could with the hand she was dealt. That’s all you could expect from someone.

  “No, Beatrice. You can talk to me – about anything. Your husband was a good man and if you need help, please tell me what it is.”

  He heard a long sigh and then more muttering. He relaxed back into his chair readying himself for a long wait. He wouldn’t rush her. After all, he hadn’t wanted to go home so she could take as long as was necessary for her to collect her thoughts. As he stared into space, he began to wonder in earnest about what had prompted her call. Did she have an errant thought that seemed like a good idea to pass along? Would she really make a call to him on that basis alone? Perhaps … if loneliness and a need to reach out were added to the dynamic.