It is one of many inaccuracies in the Normals’ myths about vampyres that we cannot cast a reflection in a mirror. The myth probably grew up out of the fact that not many vampyres like to have mirrors around their lairs, probably because of the underlying guilt most of us feel at being monsters that have to kill others to live. It is bad enough to be one of us, and far worse to be reminded of our differences by looking at our reflections in mirrors.
I turned back to the trunk and finished packing most of my suits and my makeup kit, which enabled me to appear to age as the Normals did, as well as to completely change my appearance if the authorities happened to get too close.
Once I’d completed my packing, I decided to take a turn around Vancouver. It was a lovely city and one I hadn’t previously visited. It would be nice once again to be a tourist, without having to continually be on the lookout for my next victim.
I spent the day as hundreds of other tourists to the fair city did, taking in the sights of Victoria Island, the world-renowned aquarium, and as many museums and art galleries as I could fit into one day. I especially enjoyed watching the white Beluga whales and the playful sea lions cavorting in their underwater playground.
The one sour note was the hundreds of children running and laughing and enjoying the aquarium as much as I. My own children, whom I’d had to abandon when I became one of the Vampyri, were long dead and turned to dust. I’d forced myself to leave them when I was transformed, as much for their safety as for my own sanity. Better they should think me dead than for them to see me as I’d become—a monster to be feared and shunned by all Normals. Seeing children in such numbers reminded me once again of all I’d lost when I took that first fateful drink of tainted blood so many lifetimes ago. The fact that I would never again have the chance to father a child was just another rip in my heart along with all the other disappointments I’ve had to endure.
When I had seen all I cared to see, I stopped by the port authority office and made arrangements to berth the Moon Chaser there for an extended period of time.
My last stop was at the Canadian Pacific Railroad terminal, where I bought tickets on the next day’s train for Banff, with stops along the way at Jasper National Park and Lake Victoria. What the hell, I decided, I was in no hurry and I hadn’t had a real vacation in as long as I could remember.
When I got back to my ship, I drank two more vials of blood and fell into an exhausted sleep, both excited and anxious about the next day when I would yet again start a new life in a new place.
As I began to doze off, I realized for the first time in many, many years that I was lonesome. I missed the new friends I’d made in New Orleans, the only friends I’d had in more years than I cared to think about.
Unbidden, an image of TJ O’Reilly nestled its way into my thoughts, a memory from many months ago in Houston right after I’d taken her against her will to protect myself against the search the authorities were making for me at the time. The memory—of how beautiful she looked standing naked in my shower as we prepared to make love under the steaming jets of water—caused my heart to beat fast and a familiar warmth to spread throughout my body. I’d just begun the Rite of Transformation and she was well on her way to becoming my mate—the first I’d ever taken as a vampyre.
Lying in my lonely bed on my freighter, I felt my groin grow heavy with remembered desire and longing. I pounded my fist into my pillow and rolled over, trying without much success to get her out of my mind.
* * *
When I arrived at the railroad terminal the next day, I put my trunk in the baggage car and carried a small tote bag with a couple of days change of clothes and my special aluminum briefcase with me to my assigned compartment. The briefcase contained my tubes of blood, kept cool by means of a special device designed to hold dry ice.
I almost laughed when Leroy Johnson, the steward on my car, showed me my compartment. I’d paid a couple of hundred dollars extra for the Golden upgrade, the more deluxe accommodations. Deluxe wasn’t exactly the word I would have used to describe the sleeping compartment. Only about six-by-six feet, the room was more spartan than luxurious. A small sink and mirror was on one wall, and a door led into the head, which was barely large enough to sit down in. As I looked around, I saw a seam on one wall where the foldout bed was evidently located.
Leroy smiled at my reaction. “I know it’s not very big, sir,” he said in his thick Canadian accent, “but you’ve got all the comforts of home, except for a shower, which is located at the end of the corridor.”
I grinned and pressed a five-dollar bill into his hand. “Thanks, Leroy. I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” I said.
“I’ll bring you some ice, sir,” he said making the bill disappear as if by magic. “And don’t forget, as soon as the train leaves the station, there’ll be champagne and snacks served in the observation car at the rear of the train.”
“Thanks, Leroy,” I said automatically, “but I’m not feeling real sociable just now.”
“But sir,” he argued sincerely, “you got to go to the observation car. You can’t see the mountains as well from in here, and I guarantee you that everyone on the train is friendly as can be. You just might make some new friends.”
He was right, of course, but so many years of being a loner weighed heavily on me and it was hard to make an adjustment at this late date. I’d never cultivated friends before, for who wants to befriend someone you might end up devouring if the Hunger struck? However, now that I had the Hunger under control, I might give it a try. Some company might be just the thing to get me out of the depressed mood I’d been in all morning. Lust-filled dreams of TJ had kept me awake most of the night and I hadn’t yet managed to get her completely out of my mind.
As the train jerked and bumped, and with a great clunking of metal on metal pulled out of the station, I moved toward the observation car.
When I got there, it was full of people, both young and old and all in a merry, holiday mood. The champagne was flowing, the cheese and crackers were disappearing, and everyone acted like old friends.
In spite of my dark mood, I soon found myself laughing and enjoying myself for the first time in months. Maybe this move to central Canada would be good for me in more ways than I had thought. Maybe at last I would find some semblance of happiness. After all, it was about time.
Ten
Michael Morpheus, now almost totally healed from his gunshot wounds, parked his car on the street one block over from Sam and TJ’s apartment complex. It was a black Ford Explorer, identical to the one he’d had to abandon in Hermann Park. He preferred the Explorers because they were far more numerous and easier to steal than more expensive foreign models, and once he’d changed the license plates, there was little chance of the cops stopping him.
The night was dark and moonless, although this presented no problem for Morpheus, who could see as well in dark as in light. He easily vaulted a fence on the property behind the apartments and made his way silently through the darkness toward the door leading to the apartment he was interested in.
He started and jumped to the side, reflexively beginning to change into his vampyre form, as two large German Shepherds began to bark and lunge against a nearby fence. Dogs, for whatever reason, have an intense and instinctive hatred for vampyres. Morpheus calmed when he saw the dogs were securely locked up and jogged quickly out of their sight so they’d quit barking. He didn’t want any inquisitive neighbors coming out to see what all the commotion was about. It might interfere with his plans for the night.
He rounded the corner of the complex and stood on the walkway leading to the apartment. Dressed all in black in his Hunting clothes, he was practically invisible if he stayed clear of the dim light cast by nearby streetlights. He glanced at the window next to the door and saw a light on, even though it was just past midnight. Keeping late hours, girls?, he wondered, grinning at the thought that perhaps they were aware of his presence in the city and of his interest in them. I hope it keeps you sweatin
g with fear every night, he thought maliciously, still mortally angry with the people who’d dared to interfere in his life.
He hoped the girls were in there, for he would make Sam watch while he devoured her friend. After that, he would fuck some sense into Sam and make her realize what she’d been missing since she betrayed him.
He stepped up on the small front porch and leaned his head next to the door, listening with his mind, as well as his ears, for any sounds or thoughts from within the apartment.
Strange. The light was on but he could detect no human presence in the small apartment. Even if they were sleeping he should be able to sense their thoughts and dreams. His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms with frustration. He took a deep breath to calm himself, not an easy task when the black rage overtook him.
Perhaps these women had minds too strong for him to control, just like that bitch the other night. He shook his head and spit on the porch, damning these modern women and their independent ways, unwilling to contemplate that it might be some weakness of his own that made them immune to his control.
Well, he was here now so he might as well take a look inside. If it looked like they might return shortly, then he’d just lie in wait inside for them. If, on the other hand, it appeared as though they were gone for good, then maybe they’d left some clues as to where they might be found.
Either way, he intended to enter and take a look around. The problem was how to get into the apartment without leaving any evidence of his visit. It would be an easy matter for him to just rip the door open, but that wouldn’t do if they might be returning soon. He wanted no sign of forced entry to warn them off.
He left the porch and moved around the side of the building. Just around the corner, he saw a small, frosted window high up on the wall. Probably a bathroom window, he mused. With little effort, he jumped high in the air and grabbed hold of the windowsill. Holding on with his good right hand, he used his crippled left arm to push up against the window until the catch bent and finally broke. Once the window was open, it was an easy matter to scramble through the opening into the bathroom.
He crouched in the darkness and let himself change into his vampyre form, just in case. He moved through the small apartment quickly first, just to make sure no one was present. His nostrils dilated with lust at the scent of the two women that permeated the place. Even though he’d fed recently, he’d not managed to have sex with the victims, which was to him an important part of his usual feeding ritual. He was extremely horny and the smell of the women was making it hard to concentrate.
Sure now that he was alone in the apartment, he changed back into his human form and began to explore the place again, more slowly this time, looking for clues as to the whereabouts of the women. In their bedrooms, he found clothes scattered around the bed and even on the floor, indicating a hasty departure. The closet doors were left open and several drawers were not pushed in. They must have left so quickly that they forgot to turn the light out.
He smiled, knowing his presence in the area had been the proximate cause of their leaving so suddenly. Now all he had to do was figure out just where they’d gone so he could go after them.
He checked the notepad by the phone, but there were no scribblings there to help him. He picked up the phone and hit the redial button to see if they’d called a local hotel or airline. After the phone rang a few times, a female voice answered, “Medical Center operator.”
Morpheus hesitated, then asked in an official tone of voice, “Yes, this is Doctor Adam Smith. Would you page Doctor Samantha Scott, and if she doesn’t answer would you try Dr. TJ O’Reilly, please?”
“Certainly, Doctor,” the operator answered.
After a few moments, she returned on the line. “I’m sorry, Doctor Smith. Neither of them answered. Could I get anyone else for you?”
“No,” Morpheus answered abruptly and slammed the phone down.
Getting angrier by the moment, he roamed through the apartment and was able to find no indications of where the women might have gone. Finally, he moved into Samantha Scott’s bedroom and dug his hands in her lingerie drawer. Pulling a handful of her night things out he buried his nose in them. Even though they’d been washed, he could still detect her scent and he reveled in the odor of his missing mate. As his lust for her grew, so did his anger until he could no longer control it. He raged through the rooms like a madman, slashing and tearing at furniture and shelves until it looked as if a tornado had destroyed the place. Almost nothing was left undamaged.
Finally, he stood among the wreckage in the middle of the room, pink-tinged sweat oozing from his forehead, breathing heavily. As the rage left him, he took a seat in a nearby chair and began to think through his options. It was clear that the women, and most probably their men friends as well, had gone into hiding, hoping he would be caught before they had to resurface.
Well, I don’t intend to let that happen, Morpheus thought. I guess it’s time to call in reinforcements.
He pulled a small, black address book from his jacket pocket and took a cellular phone from where it was clipped to his belt. As he opened the cover of the cell phone, he smiled to himself thinking how easy the new technology had made it for members of the vampyre race to keep in touch and still maintain their anonymity. Cell phones could be taken out in any name as long as a credit history was available. They were portable, worked practically anywhere in the civilized world, and were extremely difficult to trace—which made them the ideal tool for a race of people who lived most of their lives in hiding.
Opening the book, he turned the pages to the letter C. There, listed under the one word Council, were the names of the other members of the Vampyre Council in New Orleans. The survivors had scattered after the affair with The Ripper had brought the police down on them last year. Morpheus moved his finger down the list of names: Carmilla de la Fontaine, the leader of the council, had been killed by Morpheus himself when he found out she was helping the interlopers from Houston to find a “cure” for vampyrism; Adeline Ducayne, Sarah Kenyon, and The Ripper himself, Jacques Chatdenuit, had all been killed in Morpheus’s house by TJ O’Reilly and her vampyre friend, Albert Nachtman. However, there were still plenty of Vampyres left alive: Jean Horla, Peter Vardalack, Christina Alario, Theo Thantos, Gerald Enyo, Louis Frene, and Ramson Holroyd from Houston were all still alive, though he didn’t know how many were in the immediate area nor how many would agree to join his vendetta against his enemies.
To get their help, he couldn’t let them know his anger was personal. He’d use the girls’ and their men friends’ involvement in the development of the vaccine to cure vampyrism as the reason he was searching for them. The problem was, Morpheus thought as he scanned the list, some of these people might actually agree with the interlopers that a so-called cure for vampyrism was a good thing. He would have to be very careful how he approached the group until he learned just where their loyalties lie. One thing was for sure, though, any of them who didn’t agree with him wouldn’t have long to live—he’d see to that personally.
Eleven
The group watched as TJ hesitated, holding the cell phone to her ear. After a moment, she began to speak. “Elijah, this is TJ . . . O’Reilly,” she said, adding her last name as if there might be more than one TJ in Pike’s life. “We’ve had some developments here and we need your advice. Please call me back tomorrow.” She gave her cell phone number.
“He didn’t answer?” Matt asked.
TJ shook her head. “No. I got his voice mail. I guess he had his phone turned off.” She glanced at her wristwatch, noticing it was past midnight. “We don’t know where he is. Maybe he’s sleeping.”
With that, Shooter let go with a prodigious yawn and blinked his eyes, struggling to hide his irritation that TJ felt it necessary to involve Pike in all this. It was a personal affront to him that she thought they needed the help of her ex-lover, as if he wasn’t strong enough to protect her. “Jesus, sleep sounds good,” he sai
d, feigning indifference at their inability to contact him. “How about we all hit the hay and continue this discussion over breakfast in the morning?”
The casualness of his attitude didn’t fool TJ. She could read him like a book and knew that he was still jealous of her previous relationship with Pike, but he had no idea of just how dangerous Morpheus was. She promised herself she would make it up to him, somehow.
Everyone agreed it was past time for sleep, and Shooter and TJ went through the connecting door into their room, shutting but not locking it behind them.
Matt got to his feet and stretched, yawning in sympathy with Shooter. “I’ve got to take a shower,” he said. “I feel like twenty miles of bad road.”
Sam looked at him, a small grin on her face in spite of the gravity of their situation. “Would you like some company?”
He stared back at her, his face blank. “No, I don’t think so,” he said slowly, “I’m feeling a little shy tonight.”
“Bullshit, you liar!” Sam said, laughing and pitching a throw pillow at his head.
He ducked and ran for the bedroom. “Well, why’d you ask such a stupid question, lady?” he called back over his shoulder as he began to strip off his clothes. “Have I ever turned you down?”
Sam ran after him, shrugging out of her blouse as she caught up to him. “I just wanted to be ladylike,” she said, sticking out a foot and tripping him while he was hopping on one foot trying to get his pants off. “Last one in has to wash the other one’s back first.”
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