Carmilla moved to a counter. “Would you like some hot tea? I’ve always found tea to be very soothing in times of crisis.”
TJ nodded and watched as Carmilla prepared two cups of tea and served them on an elaborate silver service.
“Milk or sugar?”
“Sugar and lemon, please,” TJ answered, amazed that they were sitting here having tea after the woman had just told her she could read her mind.
As she poured, Carmilla said, “I sense you are very confused and somewhat disoriented about what happened to you last night.”
“Yes.”
“First let me say that I am like you,” Carmilla said in a low, calm voice. “That is, we share certain characteristics through no choice of our own.”
“Are you . . . are you a vampire?” TJ asked.
“We prefer the term Vampyre, with a Y,” Carmilla said with a smile. “And, yes, I am, and I suspect you are, too, my dear.”
TJ, surprised at Carmilla’s openness, took a deep drink of her tea. It was delicious and the warm liquid did seem to calm her a bit.
Carmilla stared at her for a moment. “How is it you are one of us and don’t know it?” she asked.
TJ shook her head. “I’m not one of you. . . . At least, I don’t think I am yet.”
“But one of us must have taken you through the Rite of Transformation?”
TJ grimaced at the word. “Yes. Several months ago, in Houston, a man who is . . . a Vampyre named Roger Niemann kidnapped me. He did perform certain rituals on me, against my will, of course.”
She hesitated at the look of hatred that came over Carmilla’s face at her mention of the name Roger Niemann.
“Is something wrong?” TJ asked, wondering if she’d said something to anger the woman.
“No, not with you, my dear,” Carmilla said, reaching across the table to pat TJ’s hand. “It’s just that I’ve had some dealings with this Roger Niemann, and ‘dislike’ is much too mild a word for how I feel about him.
“However,” Carmilla continued, “you say Niemann did perform the Transformation ritual on you, and yet you don’t think you have been changed by it?”
TJ’s face sobered. “Oh, I was changed all right. But, soon after he finished with me, some friends found me and treated me with medications that made most of the symptoms go away—at least for a while.”
Carmilla’s face lit up with excitement. “You say these friends have a treatment that can reverse the Transformation?”
TJ nodded. “At least, partially. Now, however, some of the symptoms are returning. That’s why we’re here looking for Roger. We know he’s been experimenting with procedures to reverse the Transformation and we want to get some information from him.”
Carmilla’s face paled and TJ noticed her hand begin to shake, spilling her tea. “You say, Roger Niemann is here in New Orleans?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
“We’re almost sure he is,” TJ replied, “but we don’t know just where yet.”
Carmilla took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, and poured them both more tea.
“Now, TJ, you must start from the very beginning and tell me everything you can about what happened to you and how your treatment affected your Transformation.”
It took TJ over an hour and a half to explain to Carmilla how Roger, racked with guilt over his need to kill to satisfy his lust for blood, had chosen her to be his mate. How out of both a physical attraction for her and a desire to have another doctor to help him in his research, he hoped to find a cure for Vampyrism. Though she didn’t remember her treatment, she told Carmilla what Sam and Matt had told her about how they’d used antibiotics to kill the plasmids that carried the DNA genes that caused the symptoms of Vampyrism.
When she was finished, Carmilla was clearly excited about what she’d heard. “And did the treatment work?” she asked.
“Only partially, and the cure was only temporary,” TJ answered. “I find myself again exhibiting some of the symptoms, and that is why we hope to find Roger. We believe if he will share some of his research with us, we’ll be able to effect a permanent cure.”
“Oh, my dear,” Carmilla said, taking both of TJ’s hands in hers. “If only that is true.”
“Now that I’ve told you my story, perhaps you can explain to me why you hate Roger so much,” TJ said.
“That, too, is a long story, TJ. Basically, there are two types of Vampyres. Those that revel in their differences and think that normal people, those we call Normals, or Others, are our legitimate prey. The second type, and by far the most prevalent, are those like Roger and myself. Those who despise what we are and hate taking other lives so that we can survive.
“My aunt Jacqueline De La Fontaine headed a council in Houston of those who wanted peace with the Normals. Roger, when they approached him and asked him to cease his killing of innocent people, savagely murdered my aunt and some of her followers.” Carmilla’s face reddened and she gritted her teeth. “For that, I have sworn to kill Roger myself.”
TJ leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “But, Carmilla, if Roger holds the key to undoing the Transformation, you must not kill him. He seems to be the best hope for you and me and all of us who want to become human again.”
Carmilla nodded gravely. “You are correct, of course. And, my dear, if Roger does hold this key you speak of, then I may be inclined to spare his life if he shares it with the rest of us.”
When TJ started to speak, Carmilla held up her hand. “But, TJ, I must warn you. Recently, we’ve begun to have some killings in New Orleans that almost certainly are being done by one of us. If Roger is here in the city, then I will bet that it is he who is murdering these people. If that is so, then I fear he no longer wishes to revert to normal, for only someone who relishes killing can be committing these atrocities.”
“I cannot believe that, Carmilla. When I was undergoing the Transformation, Roger and I . . . Well, we became very close. I just know that he is innocent of these murders. He hated killing and was doing everything in his power to stop.”
Carmilla sighed. “I hope you are right, my dear. But now, you have given me much to think about, and to share with the members of my own Council. Where are you staying?”
“My friends and I are at the Royal Orleans.”
Carmilla rose. “Then go back to them, and not a word about what we’ve spoken about. I will get in touch with you after I’ve spoken to my Council. If they agree, we’ll help you find Roger and see what he has to say for himself.”
As TJ left the antique shop, Carmilla reminded her. “Remember, not a word to your friends. The other members of our race are very strict about secrecy, and I wouldn’t want you to put your friends’ lives in danger.”
With that chilling warning ringing in her mind, TJ made her way back to the hotel.
Twenty-four
It was well past midnight when Albert Nachtman switched off the DNA sequencer in his home lab. He’d inserted samples of his own blood into the machine and had been using it to try and determine the DNA code of the plasmids infecting his bloodstream that caused his Vampyre symptoms. After many tries and hundreds of hours of work, the machine had finally succeeded in the identification.
Albert booted up the Dell Inspiron notebook computer he used to record his data and began to write:
I have finally made a significant breakthrough in my research into the causes of Vampyrism. The DNA sequencer has identified the plasmids coursing through my blood as belonging to the so-called F-like plasmids, which are relatives of the prototypic fertility factor, F. Plasmids replicate by conjugation, or splitting apart. The good news is that in their wild form, the F-type plasmids’ ability to conjugate is repressed; that is, only about one out of a thousand of the F-type plasmids are able to conjugate and reproduce. In theory, this should make them easier to control once I’ve been able to synthesize some sort of repressor for conjugative DNA transfer.
Researching the Internet, especially the work of Dr. Bartholom
ew Wingate at McGill University, I found that in the F-type plasmids, gene 19 is the one that regulates fertility and conjugation. His papers speak of work on an antisense RNA, called FinP (fin: fertility inhibition), which, in conjunction with the protein FinO, might constitute a repressor for conjugative DNA transfer and thus stop the propagation of plasmids in my bloodstream.
Whether or not Bartholomew has achieved this synthesis of FinP and FinO yet is not indicated in his published work, nor is the question of whether it will work on F-type plasmids addressed.
I have been debating whether to call him directly for the answers, but that would pose problems of how to explain my situation without exposing myself to detection by the authorities.
Albert saved his work and then turned off the computer. He used the Dell laptop for security reasons. It was easily portable and could be carried with him in the event he had to vacate his home in a hurry.
He stretched and yawned. He was getting close to solving the problem of reversing Vampyrism, but he knew he still had a long way to go to actually begin the process.
He checked his watch. It was too late to go hunting for the Ripper. If he was on the prowl tonight, he’d probably already chosen his victim and was somewhere he couldn’t be found. Albert knew full well the Ripper’s need for privacy when he fed, for he’d faced the same situations many times himself.
He got up from his desk and went into his bedroom. He decided to get some sleep and recharge his mental batteries. Though his Vampyre body needed little rest, he found his mind was sluggish and his thoughts muddled if he didn’t sleep occasionally.
TJ had wrestled with her conscience all afternoon about whether to inform her friends of what she’d learned from the Vampyre known as Carmilla de la Fontaine.
When they met back at the hotel, the four friends gathered in Matt and Sam’s room and ordered sandwiches from room service.
Once the food had been delivered and they were sitting around the coffee table in front of the couch, Sam asked the boys how their day had gone.
Shooter shrugged and then spoke around a mouthful of ham and cheese on rye. “All in all, not too bad. At least Chief Boudreaux didn’t throw us out on our ears when we told him of our suspicions about Roger Niemann being a Vampyre and perhaps being his elusive Ripper.”
“Yeah,” Matt added. “He even promised to share whatever clues he came up with concerning the Ripper killings if we did the same with whatever we turned up.”
Shooter grinned. “Hell, he even deputized me so I could legally carry a gun while we hunt the bastard.”
“What about you, Matt?” Sam asked, a glint in her eye. Matt knew she abhorred guns and violence, so he shook his head. “He offered to deputize me, too, but I declined. I told him I’d just probably shoot myself or some innocent bystander if I tried to fire a weapon.”
TJ looked over at Shooter. “And did you bring a gun with you?”
He nodded. “Yep, but I told the chief a little white lie. I said I had my service revolver with me.”
“You don’t?” TJ asked.
“Nope. I borrowed one of the SWAT team’s new fifty-caliber Smith and Wesson automatics and a supply of dumdums and Glaser Safety Slugs.”
“What are dumdums and Glasers?” Sam asked.
“Dumdums are soft-nosed bullets with hollow points that expand when they hit. They’ll leave a hole in flesh and blood you can put your fist through. Glasers are like little shotgun shells. The slugs are hollow and contain dozens of small pellets floating in liquid Teflon. They’re not very good against bulletproof vests, but they’re hell on flesh and blood. When they hit, the nose opens up and sends all the little lead shot spreading out in a cone-shaped path of destruction. Afterward, it looks like the target was put through a meat grinder.”
Sam shuddered. “I don’t like the thought of going around hunting a man like he was a wild animal.”
Shooter’s face became sober. “You didn’t see what that son of a bitch did to my friend Sherry or those SWAT team men who got in his way,” he said grimly. “And, Sam, I need to remind you we’re not exactly hunting a man here. From all accounts, Niemann is more like a wild animal than a human—”
To change the subject, Matt interrupted. “And how did you ladies do on your mission to get a list of the new docs in town?”
Sam glanced at TJ, but didn’t say anything about her going off on her own. “Not too well. With Tulane School of Medicine here and the large number of private clinics, there have been over two hundred doctors in and out of town in the past three months, and that’s not counting the ones who didn’t join the medical society.”
“I guess, then, we’ll just have to find him the old-fashioned way,” Shooter observed.
“Which is?” Matt asked.
“We’ll stake out his boat and hope he visits it soon.”
“That could take weeks,” Sam protested.
Shooter shrugged. “I’m open to other suggestions.”
TJ bit her lip. It was now or never, she thought to herself. “I need to tell y’all something.”
“What is it, baby?” Shooter asked.
“I didn’t go with Sam today.”
Shooter cocked his head to the side. “Oh?”
TJ took a deep breath and then explained how her mental abilities had been growing, and of the meeting she had with Carmilla. She held nothing back and told them everything that’d been said, including Carmilla’s threat if she told them about the Vampyres.
“Jeez,” Shooter said when she’d finished. “There must be a whole lot of these creatures if they have a Council and everything.”
“Did she say how many there were?” Sam asked.
TJ shook her head. “No, but I got the impression there were quite a few.”
“All this mental stuff must’ve been awfully hard on you, sweetheart,” Shooter said. “Why didn’t you tell me . . . us about it?”
TJ dropped her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t understand it myself at first, and when I did finally realize what was happening, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you all to think I was a freak.”
They all immediately commiserated with her and told her they would’ve thought no such thing.
She looked up, her face a mask of determination. “The reason I’m telling you now is that I see a way to find Roger without waiting for him to visit his ship.”
“What’s that, TJ?” Sam asked.
“I could start projecting my mind out, calling to him as I go around town, telling him to come see me.”
Shooter jumped to his feet. “No way!” he almost shouted. “I’m not about to let you set yourself up as bait for this monster.”
She set her tortured eyes upon him. “But don’t you see, Shooter? Roger has the same mental abilities I do, only much more powerful. I don’t think there is any way you could find him and follow him without his knowing about it. Your mind and thoughts would give you away.”
“But he didn’t hear the SWAT team coming when we fought him last time,” Shooter protested.
“That’s because you went immediately to his ship and boarded it,” TJ said. “You didn’t try to follow him around the city first. By the time he knew you were on to him, you had him trapped on his ship.”
Matt sighed. “She’s got a point, Shooter.”
Shooter glared at Matt. “Don’t tell me you’re on her side in this crazy idea, pal.”
“Hold on, Shooter,” Sam said thoughtfully. “I think TJ has a point. If this Carmilla lady could pick up her thoughts and find her, Roger is going to sooner or later. I think it’s better if we fix it so when he does hear her, we’ll be there to protect her.”
“How can we do that if he’s such a great mind reader?” Shooter asked.
“I think I know a way . . . ,” Sam said, and then she explained her idea.
Twenty-five
Jacques Chatdenuit paced back and forth in his apartment. The recent confrontation with the other Vampyre had caused him to re
frain from feeding for several days. He was unsure of just how much the creature knew about him and his habits, and didn’t want to go out until he knew how much danger he was in.
Ordinarily, Jacques wasn’t afraid of anything; his megalomania wouldn’t allow him to think anyone was as strong and intelligent as he was. However, the force of the other Vampyre’s mind had surprised and dismayed him. He knew that in a force of wills and strength, the match was too close to call, and he wasn’t ready to put it to the final test and risk his life finding out who was the stronger.
He tried to eat some normal food, but his stomach rejected it. As he knelt over the toilet throwing up, his Hunger made itself known. It started as an empty feeling in his gut, followed by a slight tremor in his hands and a flushed feeling. Soon his mind could think of nothing else but blood. He found himself growing hard with the thought of once again going on the hunt.
“Fuck him!” he growled. “If he wants a fight, then it’s a fight he’ll get.”
He put on his hunting outfit of black jeans and shirt, and started to leave his home. He stopped just before shutting the door behind him, thought for a moment, then reentered his room. He went to a closet and took out a .357 revolver loaded with wadcutter slugs, put it in his belt in the small of his back, and threw a sport coat on to cover the weapon.
He knew the pistol wouldn’t kill another of his kind, but the force of being hit with five or six of the big slugs would slow the other down long enough for him to make his getaway.
A grim smile curled his lips as he left and went out into the darkness to satisfy his growing Hunger. He only hoped it would give him time to make a safe acquisition without risking his identity.
As he walked down the street, Jacques decided to change his method of picking his prey, just in case his new enemy was watching the places he usually frequented on his hunts. He walked past Bourbon Street, keeping his mind tightly blocked to prevent any others of his kind from learning of his intentions, and moved toward the Hilton Hotel on Street Charles Street.
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