Silver Dagger

by T. L. Sinclare

  And she knew something else. Stephen had known Danielle.

  Madeleine pushed herself off the couch and grabbed her jacket, moving before caution could stop her. Shrugging into the coat, she turned up the collar and stalked down the hall. The dim light outside her building provided barely enough illumination to see the street. She stayed in the light until she saw a passing taxi.

  "Where to?" the cabbie demanded as she jumped inside.

  Madeleine stared blankly at the back of the driver's head. Where was she going? And what was she planning to do once she got there?

  "Hey, lady, where do you want to go? I'm not just sitting here all night."

  "State Street. Take me to State Street."

  "That's kind of a broad area. You wanna narrow it down a bit?" he grumbled as he placed the car into gear.

  "I'll decide when we get there."

  Sitting back against the stained seat, she watched the blur of buildings pass. Her fingers tapped on the filthy door handle.

  What are you doing! She bit her lip and stared out the window, unable to answer her own question. She was going in without a plan. I just want to see the house again.

  And Stephen.

  A now familiar ache pierced her stomach. He'd invaded her thoughts throughout the week, distracting her at work, annoying her at home. The moment she'd relax, he'd be there—with his seductive voice and hypnotic eyes. Dreams haunted her sleep—erotic dreams. Initially they'd only been repeats of the first night's vision, but slowly through the week they'd evolved into full erotic fantasies.

  "We're here." The cabbie's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Now where do you want to go? I go off duty here in a few minutes, and I'm not sitting around while you decide."

  Madeleine looked out the window. They were about five blocks from Stephen's house.

  "Here's fine." Without looking at the meter, she pulled out a twenty and handed it to him. "Keep the change." The startled look on the driver's face meant she'd overtipped him. Way overtipped him, but she didn't care. She had to get out of the cab and…and what?

  She still didn't know what she was doing here, but Stephen and his house were the only clues she had. She shook her head.

  Clues? Great, I'm channeling Nancy Drew.

  The silence of the street weighed on her shoulders as night settled on the houses. Now that she was here, she had to do something. Hesitant footsteps moved her slowly toward Stephen's. Stephen had to be involved in Danielle's death. He'd lied about knowing her, and then there was Madeleine's memory of his house—the housekeeper's pale, tired face, Nick's fear, even her own strange compulsion when she'd met Stephen, though she was pretty sure she'd imagined that part of it.

  Her steps slowed even further as she approached until she was barely moving. Two houses away, she could see his front porch. Now what? Stand here and wait for a neighbor to call the cops? Go up to the door and demand that he tell her about Danielle's death! She stared at the building as if it had answers to give.

  The front door popped open and Dylan stepped out. He did a quick scan of the street, looking away from her, then turning back. She jumped into the shadow of the high stone fences separating two homes and pressed her back against the wall. She held her breath and slid deeper into the shadows. She watched the street and slowly realized what she was doing. She rubbed her forehead with tense fingers.

  I really do think I'm Nancy Drew. If I'd just stayed on the street, I could have greeted him and kept moving. Or asked him some questions about Stephen.

  Now, there was no way to explain why she was hiding in an alley.

  Seconds passed. She waited. The air around her grew strangely still. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

  "Hello, Madeleine," a dark, masculine voice whispered from behind her. She spun around. A hand wrapped itself around her neck and slammed her against the brick wall.

  "No!" She managed to scream before the bright lights that warned of unconsciousness swarmed over her. Bits of rock scraped her hands as she tried to catch herself against the rough stone. Her knees collapsed, dropping her to the ground. Stars swirled in front of her face.

  "What is it that attracts you? Just like the others—can't stay away," her assailant growled. He grabbed the front of her blouse. She heard the tear of material as his hands jerked the edges apart. Oh God, this can't be happening. She opened her mouth to scream again. A pale hand flashed in front of her face, covering her mouth and muffling her cry. Between darkness and the pain in her head, she couldn't see the man's face—only a flash of dark hair against a distant streetlight.

  Forcing her mouth open, she buried her teeth in the palm that covered her lips. A grunt of pain preceded her release. She knew only a moment of relief.

  "Bitch." A violent slap across her cheek accompanied the curse, knocking her back against the wall. Another shower of pain fell on her body.

  "No," she said again, trying to force the darkness away. Dizzy, she pushed at the hands that grabbed at her. But they were stronger. They pulled her forward until she was inches away from his face. Darkness still held him.

  Madeleine weakened as the pain radiated through her body.

  He raised his head as if he were listening to a distant sound. Lifting her by the flaps of her coat, he tossed her lightly against the wall.

  "Until next time." And he was gone.

  Released from the threat, her body shut down, collapsing against the bricks. The will that had kept her upright disappeared. Blackness swallowed her, and she fell to the ground.

  ***

  Voices. In the distance. Angry voices. Unable to force her eyes open, Madeleine lay still and identified soft cushions beneath her cheek, a warm layer of material by her chin. Her head throbbed and her whole body ached. What the hell had happened! Then she remembered. She'd been in the alley and someone had grabbed her.

  But where was she now? It didn't feel like home. The cushions felt too comfortable to be anything from her apartment. She slowly let her eyes drift open and immediately identified her resting place. Stephen's living room.

  Well, you wanted another reason to get inside the house. Of course, a concussion wouldn't have been my first choice.

  She pushed herself up to sitting. A few shallow breaths helped clear the swirling colors that invaded her eyes when she moved. Nausea welled in her throat. She froze and the wave passed. Damn. Whoever hit me has a mean right cross. Dark, dangerous images flashed across her mind. Hands pulling at her clothes, the dark hair—his voice. It seemed like she should recognize it.

  She tried to imagine a face to go with the voice, but nothing came to mind. The only person who even vaguely fit the image was Stephen. Her heart started to pound. It didn't make sense. Why would he attack her in the alley? And then, why bring her here? The throbbing in her head overwhelmed her thoughts, and she pushed the concerns away for later. Right now, she had to deal with the pounding headache.

  She touched the back of her head with light fingers and gasped as pain shot through her body. The voices behind the kitchen door had dropped to a low rumble. She thought about calling out to let someone know she was awake, but the idea of raising her voice, even just a little, made her head pound even worse. She'd walk over there quietly and tell them quietly that she really needed some aspirin.

  Standing was easier than she thought it would be—walking was the challenge. Each step inspired an additional throb in her skull. After three steps, she rested against a high-backed chair and took a heart-calming breath.

  "I can't believe you brought her here." Stephen's voice resounded from the kitchen.

  "What was I supposed to do? Leave her lying in the alley?" Nick asked.

  "Yes."

  Madeleine froze.

  "When are you going to understand that you don't get involved with humans?" Stephen demanded.

  Humans? Like we're alien creatures? Madeleine smiled. They had to be joking.

  "I'm human," Nick insisted, his voice firm, defiant—and with a hint of pleading.
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  Silence filled the space. Madeleine was afraid to move. She waited, and Stephen answered quietly, "No, you're not."

  It didn't sound like a joke.

  Her fingers dug into the back of the chair. She had to get out of here, but she couldn't make her feet move. She waited for Nick's response.

  "I couldn't just leave her there," was all he said.

  "Fine." Stephen's voice had turned logical, but the edge was still there. "You brought her here. She's perfect. Do it."

  "No."

  "Nicholas." Darkness and warning filled Stephen's voice. "She won't feel a thing."

  "No! Why do you keep pushing me?"

  "Because, damn it, you're starving. I can see it in your eyes. I know what it's like. You need blood. Fresh, human blood. And there's a body in the living room with plenty of it."

  The throbbing in her head faded as her heart moved to her throat. She took tiny pants of silent air to keep the panic at bay.

  "I drink it now."

  "From a blood bank. Nicholas, that will sustain you for a while, but you need to complete the conversion and drink fresh human blood."

  Her jaw dropped open.

  "I'm not ready."

  "You're a vampire. You'd better get ready."

  Madeleine gasped, and the silence between the two rooms changed. She could feel it—the heavy weight of an invisible force, searching for her, stalking her.

  She backed away, moving as quickly as she could and still maintain the silence she knew was vital. Her heart pounded. The scrape of a chair across hardwood floor sounded from the kitchen. They were coming! She spun around and raced for the door, silence no longer her goal. She burst onto the street and ran.

  Madeleine! Stephen's voice echoed through her head and followed her down the street. She pumped her legs faster, sure that any moment he'd be behind her. Tears flowed down her cheeks, her sobs draining valuable breath.

  Later, she couldn't remember how she got home. The city streets were blurred, the memory of her run filled with panic and terror. No one followed her, but his presence lingered. She stumbled into the brightly lit lobby of her building and tore up the stairs, ignoring Bob posted near the door.

  Her hands shook as she tried to unlock her apartment. With a clatter, the keys fell to the ground. She sobbed and knelt for them. On her knees she reached up to open her door. The key slid into the lock and with a sigh of relief she tumbled inside. She slammed the door shut and clicked the lock.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Vampires! Her breath came in panicked gasps.

  She crawled to the phone. Her shaking hands could barely dial the number, but finally she heard the ring on the other end. She wrapped one arm around her waist and rocked back and forth until Scott picked up.

  "Lambert," he answered after the fourth ring.

  "Oh my God, Scotty."

  "Madeleine?"

  "They think they're vampires. That's why there was no blood in Danielle's body. They think they're vampires!"

  Chapter Three

  Stephen stopped in his doorway and watched Madeleine race down the street. Damn, he should have been listening for her. She'd been unconscious when Nicholas had carried her inside. He'd assumed she'd be out for a while.

  He started down the steps. He would catch her before she got home. Madeleine was about to become another victim of random city violence.

  Light shimmered at the bottom of his steps. Stephen tensed and waited for the person to materialize. He relaxed only slightly when he saw it was Gayle.

  Gayle rarely left Death's Door, the nightclub he owned. With the sun just set, it was prime hunting time, so why was he here?

  "Hello, my love." Gayle draped his arm over the stone ledge in a pose of elegant exhaustion. "I haven't seen you for days." Gayle rarely asked direct questions. He made statements and waited for others to fill in the blanks. Which they usually did.

  "I've been busy."

  "So I hear."

  Stephen straightened. Of course Gayle had heard. There was little that didn't move through the gossip mill at Death's Door. It would have been too much to hope Madeleine and Nicholas would have gone unnoticed. "I brought something for you."

  "Not now. I've got to attend to something." He shouldered past Gayle and was surprised when Gayle's hand landed on his arm.

  He held up a newspaper. "Read this morning's news?"

  "What do I care what the human press reports?"

  "Because it looks like familiar handiwork."

  He slapped the newspaper onto Stephen's open palm. The article was small. He skimmed it quickly. "Damn."

  "Just what the Community needs. Bad press on top of three dead Council members."

  Stephen snapped his head toward Gayle. "Three?"

  "Well, there are only two officially, but rumor has it that Mikel the Lesser was found dead in his lair."

  Stephen felt his jaw tighten. So, they found the third one.

  Gayle gave a delicate little shudder. "Death by silver dagger. Sounds horribly painful, doesn't it? Just the thought makes my skin crawl." He flicked his fingers like he was waving away fairy dust. "Everyone is saying that Mikel was one of your least favorite Council members." He pursed his lips. "Not that I think you have a favorite."

  "No," Stephen agreed.

  Gayle was a great source of information. The challenge was not to give any away while he was supplying it.

  "I take it you know something about this." Gayle pointed to the newspaper. "And that's why the Council wants to see you." He gave a negligent shrug in response to Stephen's glare. "They came by my place looking for you."

  "Shilling for the Council now, are you?"

  Gayle's eyes narrowed, and he snapped, "I was just trying to help. I thought you might want some warning, but you obviously don't need any assistance. Good night." He swirled away and disappeared.

  Stephen stared at the newly vacated space. Now I've pissed off Gayle. He tapped his fingers on the stone wall. He didn't have that many friends left. He couldn't afford to alienate any more of them. Gayle was one of the few vampires Stephen actually trusted—as far as he trusted anyone these days.

  He looked down the street. Madeleine was gone. He'd take care of her later. Right now, he had to deal with the Council. It would be easier for everyone if he showed up under his own power. He didn't think they were ready to arrest him, but they were working up to it.

  Besides, facing the vampire leaders would give him a chance to find out how much they knew. They obviously didn't know it all, or he'd have been dragged before them in silver chains already.

  He walked up to the bedroom he kept on the third floor. He never slept here, only using the room as a closet and a retreat—a small semblance of a human's existence.

  Stephen slapped his hand on Nicholas' bedroom door as he walked past. The door opened and the fledgling walked out, pulling on his coat.

  "Follow her," Stephen commanded, though it was obvious Nicholas was already headed in that direction.

  Nicholas nodded but didn't move. Stephen stopped on the next landing and waited. He could feel the young vampire gathering his courage.

  "Yes?" he prompted.

  "You're not going to hurt her, are you?" The fledgling's voice was soft with the tiniest quiver.

  Stephen slowly turned to face him, giving him time to fear.

  "Why do you ask?" He bared his teeth slightly. Nicholas had been working up to this for days. "Yes?" Stephen asked darkly when the fledgling didn't answer.

  "Well, she didn't do anything," he blurted out. "And she doesn't know anything. She was just worried about her cousin, and I don't think that's a good reason to end up dead."

  Stephen strolled down the steps, giving Nicholas ample time to back away. The young man tightened his fists at his side and visibly braced himself, but he didn't step back. Stephen hid the small flicker of admiration.

  "She does know something. She heard us talking." He kept his voice quiet. "She heard us talking because you brought her here. I wil
l deal with Madeleine. Watch her."

  Nicholas nodded glumly.

  "Don't get too attached," Stephen warned. "She's not going to survive this."

  Nicholas tensed, and Stephen waited to see if he was going to make another run at it. After a moment, Nicholas sighed and moved toward the stairs.

  Stephen folded his arms across his chest and stared at Nicholas' back as he walked away. He's going to have to lose his squeamishness for death, he thought.

  The fledgling froze two steps down.

  "Uh, Stephen?"

  Two indistinct shapes glittered and swayed in front of him, solidifying as they floated up the stairs. Bodies began to take shape. The long cloaks they wore identified them as Council Guardians.

  Stephen's eyeteeth extended, and his lips curled back in an unconscious snarl. How dare they enter his home?

  "Go on, Nicholas," he commanded. The young man hesitated for a moment before plunging down the steps.

  A vague, disembodied voice filled the room. "You have been called before the Great High—"

  "I got your request earlier, Antonio." His words were slightly blurred because of the length of his teeth. "Go back to your masters. You aren't welcome here." He waved his hand and the shapes disappeared.

  Stephen growled at the empty house and stalked the rest of the way up the stairs, stripping off his shirt as he went. He dropped it on the floor and took another from the closet. In moments, he was changed. He had no mirrors, but two hundred years had taught him to dress without seeing his own reflection.

  He focused his thoughts, his irritation, on the Council. They ruled the vampire community like a City Council, only vampire politics tended to be a bit more violent. The only way a person left the Council was by dying, and there were only two ways for that to happen—self-destruction and execution. Most of the members had been a part of the group since its creation more than two hundred years ago and had no intention of leaving. Stephen smiled. The best laid plans…

  They left Stephen alone for the most part. And he ignored them in return.

  To summon him in such a manner—it was the height of rudeness to enter a vampire's house without invitation. The messengers couldn't have done anything—not even solidify—until he gave his permission, but it didn't matter. They'd entered his home.