Six police officers worked the hall a few doors down. One officer crouched near the wall, scraping something off into a plastic sack. Another was taking pictures of the carpet. Voices murmured in low discussion.
"I don't like the look of this." Whitney stood behind Eliason. Eliason started at the sound of Whitney's voice. The whole thing was giving Eliason the creeps.
Eliason didn't like the way this looked either. He walked toward the cops. One of them, a woman who wore her long brown hair in a ponytail, held up her hand. "I can't let you go any farther," she said.
"My wife was in this room," Eliason said.
The woman's brown eyes met his. He recognized the look. He had used it a few times himself. "Then you don't want to go in, sir."
"Why? Is she dead?" He couldn't keep the note of panic from his voice.
"No, sir—"
"Then I'm going inside." He shoved her out of the way and went to the doorway. Whitney followed. Blood spattered the wall. A man's body was crumpled below the stain. On the floor, the coroner was zipping up a body bag over a man's face.
"Where's Cammie?" Eliason asked.
A burly man in a brown suit turned. His face was lined with stress, and he had a cigarette in his mouth. He smelled of Vicks. "Who're you?"
"I'm Brett Eliason. I'm a doctor."
"We don't need a doctor here."
"I see that," Eliason said. "I want to know where Cammie is."
"He says he's her husband," the female cop said.
The burly man assessed Eliason. "We don't know," the man said. "Some guy in a London Fog coat showed up a few hours ago. The front desk started getting complaints about thuds and screams up here. Hotel security comes up here, finds the door open and this inside. Your wife left with the guy. The desk clerk says he thought she left willingly, but she seemed odd to him. Docile, like the guy had her on a leash."
"You got film of this?" Whitney asked.
Eliason frowned, glad Whitney was along. Eliason would never have thought to ask those kinds of questions.
"Yeah. We got a few guys down with security now, reviewing the tapes. We're not going to get much. The camera was at an odd angle from the door. Maybe we'll have gotten his face when he left."
Eliason's body was shaking. "You know where she is?"
The cop shook his head. "She left with him in a Lexus. We got an APB out for him, but spendy cars aren't that unusual in this part of Portland. No one caught the plate."
"Call down to Eugene," Whitney said. "She was working with the Eugene police on a case."
A bell sounded down the hall, followed by the pneumatic sound of the elevator doors opening. A silver-haired man in a black silk suit pushed his way through the door.
"Jesus, Art," the man said as he surveyed the scene.
The burly cop looked away from Eliason. "Sorry to bring you down tonight, Jason, but these guys had your ID. in their pockets. Thought maybe you might know something."
"Girl said she was looking for her brother. Easy case. She wanted them to accompany her to a bar, then guard her here."
"What kind of bar?" Whitney asked.
The silver-haired man turned to Whitney as though seeing him for the first time. "She called it a cow-bar. It's the Keg near the mission."
"A cow-bar," Whitney said.
"Vampires," Eliason said, the hair prickling on the back of his scalp. He pushed his way past the cops, walked around the body bag, and grabbed the curtains. As they moved, the garlic bulbs appeared. "She was prepared. What went wrong?"
"This guy died with a cross and garlic in his hands," the burly cop said. "The other guy had his throat ripped out."
"There's enough garlic in here to wipe out a nest," Whitney said. His eyes were wide.
Eliason glanced at him. "Then this couldn't have been done by a vampire."
"Oh, yes it could. We got one major motherfucker here. Either he's very old or he's hereditary and been at this for a while." Whitney put a hand to his face. "Jesus, Cam."
"Do you gentlemen mind telling us what's going on here?" the burly cop asked. "You're not her husband, are you?"
Eliason shook his head. Time to stop lying and start working with these people. They only had a short amount of time. "Whitney and I are from the Westrina Center in Wisconsin. Cammie put in a call to us two days ago, asking for help—"
"That's when she came to our offices," the silver-haired man said.
"She never got back to us, and we got worried. She wasn't supposed to be here at all. She was too involved. But we never thought it would end like this." Eliason rubbed his forearm with his right hand. He had never figured Cammie would get herself in this kind of mess. She had too much training. She was too cautious.
He should have thought about it.
Denial and family. It took a lot of counseling to overcome both of those things, and she had to face them together. He should have thought it through. He had failed her, and now she might die because of it.
"Look," Whitney said. "I've been vampire hunting for a long time now, and I can tell you one thing: we don't have a lot of time. He moved her from here because he felt threatened. But the first chance he gets, he's going to drain her, just like he did that guy there. He might torture her a little, which will give us extra time, but not much. He knows we're looking for him, and he'll get rid of her as fast as he can. And then we'll never find him again."
The burly cop stared at them for a moment. Then he nodded his head once. "All right," he said. "But I hope you two can think like a crazy man, because we already lost the advantage when that car drove away. Finding someone in this town is nearly impossible."
"We'll find her," Eliason said, but he didn't believe it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
He felt sick and woozy. His driving was erratic. He had run one red light, and made himself concentrate after that. If he got pulled over and they saw the blood on his shirt, they might take him in.
It wouldn't be an issue, if it weren't for Cam-Cam.
He glanced at her. She was staring straight ahead, sitting primly, much as Candyce had done. Nothing about Cam-Cam was familiar. She was too big to be his sister, too forceful.
Too womanly.
And he couldn't keep his mind clear. Images crowded him. A long-haired girl with a bruised face and pale skin drawn over her cheekbones cradled him as he cried.
She held a stake in her left hand.
The blood coated his father's bed.
"Daddy," she whispered.
"Daddy," he said.
She glanced at him, and he thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. She couldn't be coming out of it so quickly. He put a hand on her leg. Maybe she wasn't Cam-Cam. Maybe she wasn't his sister.
But he knew. He knew she was.
He had never been so drawn to another person. Not Mikos. Not Candyce. Not even that first night with the cows. He was so aroused he thought that if he touched himself he would explode.
He had to pull over.
She was screaming. He could barely see her beneath their father. He touched his father's back, and his father roared, slamming him against the wall.
He had to get his head clear. That garlic got to him. The man he killed had held an entire bulb. Ben's hands were shaking. His entire body hummed. He had never been this out of control before. Everything was heightened and speeded up. It had only taken him a few minutes to rip that guy's neck out.
In front of her. Christ, he would have to kill her too.
They had passed Powell's and gone up a hill in what he had thought was the middle of the city. But the city seemed to have gone away. A lot of traffic, but no houses that he could see. He wished he knew Portland better. He had thought he was heading west toward the coast, but in his state, he could have been driving into the sunrise and not noticed.
She sighed. He touched her leg. It was warm. The blood flowed through it. Family blood. Like his. Jesus. She had been five years older—
(I'll keep you safe, Ben)
Five years
. That made her nearly thirty. Almost her sexual prime. Family blood. Maybe her memories came back for a different reason.
His hard-on rubbed against the zipper of his pants. Soon. Soon he would have to stop and do something or he would take her while he was driving and they would get caught. He rolled down the window. The cool night air soothed him, but didn't ease the dizziness or the ache.
Finally he saw a side road. He pulled off. The road led into a stand of pine trees. As he rounded a corner, the road opened into a driveway that led to a fake Greek revival building. The sign out front identified it as a mortuary. Great. There were no other cars, and there wouldn't be any. No one came to graveyards at night.
He parked behind the building. No lights inside except the security light. He got out of the car. The cool air made his skin tingle. He walked around the car, pulled open the passenger door, and held out his hand.
She took his hand. Desire flooded through him. God, she was beautiful. He needed her. Now. He kissed her to keep her with him. She tasted of peppermint and sweet, untainted blood. He would have to be careful. He didn't want to kill her.
Then he remembered what Mikos had shown him. A vampire couldn't die when it was drained of blood. Only a stake through the heart or a cut-off head would kill a vampire.
Saliva filled Ben's mouth. He could drink until he was sated. For the first time ever.
He pulled her to the side of the mortuary, to the soft grass. It had to be perfect for her first time. Then he would show her how to live. Someone to be with him forever. Someone who wouldn't lose herself—not after he turned her. Someone to share the life with him.
The grass was damp against his feet. He stopped in the darkness and pulled her against him, rubbing her back, her buttocks. She moaned. He unbuttoned her shirt and took her right breast in his mouth. So good.
Her left hand moved to her side.
He grabbed her wrist, followed the hand, found a sidepack with weapons in it. He tightened his grip and pulled away enough so that he could see her face in the moonlight.
"You don't want to kill me," he said. "I can show you heaven."
He brushed her ponytail off her shoulder and bit into the artery. Her blood was sweet, as intoxicating as the garlic,[C&F143] only better. Nourishing. She struggled for a moment, then moaned. He heard the burr of a zipper. With her right hand she struggled to get out of her pants.
He let go and helped her, then freed himself. He cradled her against him, his penis against the warmth of her stomach. Then he leaned her back, onto the grass.
"I'll love you forever," he said, and shoved himself inside her.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Cammie woke up in the dark. Her body was tingling. There was an odd, almost rotted taste in her mouth.
Blood. He had slit his wrist and made her drink his blood.
Her stomach turned. She rolled over, and found she was on a bed. The sheets were flannel, and she was cold.
Her groin ached.
He had been inside her. And she had liked it, begged him for more. They had used each other until she passed out.
She buried her face in the pillow. She didn't want to think about it any more.
Stop thinking. Stop thinking. It'll go away if you forget. Daddy's a good man. He didn't mean to hurt me…
Voices in the other room. A woman and a man, talking softly. Something smelled good out there. Fresh. She sat up and wiped the hair from her face.
She was naked.
She reached beside the bed and flicked on a light. Her body was covered with bites and bruises. A grass stain ran from her elbow to her wrist.
Don't think about it.
It was the drug. That's what they taught in the Center. The drug seduced.
But it didn't make someone drink. And enjoy.
Over fifty percent of hereditaries become vampires themselves.
She covered her face with her dirt-spattered hands.
Don't think.
The voices were coming closer. She pulled the covers up to her neck.
"See?" the woman said. "A light's on now. Someone's in there."
"Look, Glenda, come here." Cammie recognized the male voice now. Ben. The thought of him made her giddy.
The door slammed back. A heavyset woman stood there. She wore a business suit and nylons, but she had taken off her shoes. Her cheeks were pink, and from the bed, Cammie could smell the woman's good health.
Ben stood behind her, shadows beneath his dark eyes.
The woman's expression tightened. "Who is she?"
He put his arm on her shoulder. She shrugged him off. Cammie's mouth filled with saliva. The aching in her groin had become a throbbing.
"I'm Ben's sister," she said. The words sounded alien in her mouth. The woman looked good. Too good. Cammie patted the side of the bed. A part of her mind stood distant, warning her that she was doing something wrong. "Come sit. Let's get acquainted."
Ben's hand clamped on the woman's shoulder. "She's ill, Glenda. Don't mind her. I'm going to get you something to drink, Cam-Cam."
He eased the woman out of the room. With his free hand, he pulled the door shut. Cammie started to follow them, then stopped.
The voice in her head was screaming.
She had nearly taken that woman.
Like a vampire would.
It was there. Inside her. It had been there all along. The adrenaline rush. Ben couldn't leave her unattended, could he? She needed something.
The door opened again, and Ben stood there alone. He held a wine bottle in one hand, a glass in the other. "I'm sorry," he said. "About yesterday. The garlic—I lost my head."
He poured the wine into the glass. The scent made her dizzy and made the throbbing in her groin even stronger. She got up, not caring that she was naked, and took the glass from him. Then she drank. It tasted good. Almost as good as he had the night before. He poured her more, and watched until she had downed the whole bottle. Then he got the blanket and wrapped her in it, and tenderly led her to the bed.
He brushed the hair out of her face. She swallowed, licking her lips. The calm voice in the back of her head told her to get away from him.
She didn't move.
"I've been watching you sleep," he said. "You look like my sister. I'm sorry for the rough introduction. The garlic—"
"The garlic was my fault," she said, and didn't know why she was apologizing for his action. She wanted more wine. It dulled her.
"You're new, aren't you? Never taken blood before?"
"I used to kill vampires," she said, her voice flat.
He flinched. "I'm going to give you more wine. I want you to stay here tonight. Otherwise you'll go out there and rip someone's throat off."
She remembered the longing she had, the way that woman smelled, the urge to grab her neck and bite—
"The wine will help?" she asked.
He nodded. "Then I'll get someone to train you." He stroked her face, and leaned her into him as if she were a child. "You'll like this life, Cam-Cam. It's not like they say."
"Why do you care what I like?" she asked.
"Because," he said, "we can be together. Like we used to. Remember? How we protected each other?"
She remembered. Only she remembered protecting him. From vampires.
A heavy feeling of failure swept over her. She was no better than he was. No better than their father had been. "The wine," she reminded him.
He nodded and got up, taking the bottle with him. When he closed the door, she searched until she found her clothes. The sidepack was gone. She looked in the empty closet, under the bed, and on the floor. Nothing.
Then she sat down and licked the edge of the glass. No matter. She would probably have used the stake on the wrong person.
Herself.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jason DeFreeze was obviously shaken up. Eliason had pegged him as the kind of man who always looked neat, yet his tie was pulled away from his neck and his silver-tipped hair was mussed. He
sat in the large leather chair behind the custom-made desk, and leaned back, his face pale with stress. Through the tall windows, the lights of the city spread before them. Eliason could see himself and Whitney reflected in the glass. Whitney had a streak of dirt along the side of his cheek. Eliason's eyes seemed too big for his face.
"I've never lost operatives like that," DeFreeze said.
Whitney ran a hand through his curly red hair. He hadn't stopped moving since they found the bodies. "I have," he said.
DeFreeze wasn't speaking much. It was as if he had made a decision and wanted Eliason to pry it out of him.
Eliason sighed. "The notes," he reminded DeFreeze.
The notes were why they came. DeFreeze had made notes of the meeting with Cammie and of his discussion with his operatives. In there, he hoped he had the name of the cow-bar and Cammie's contact.
"Right," DeFreeze said. He swiveled the chair, pulled open a drawer in his desk, and searched. He obviously found nothing, for he stood and went into the outer office.
When he appeared to be out of earshot, Whitney took Eliason's arm. "You know what's happened to her, don't you?"
"I don't know any more than you do."
"Think, man." Whitney's grip was tight. "She's ACV. He didn't kill her. If he takes her—"
"Jesus." Eliason closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wood of the chair. He had been avoiding thinking about that. Cammie, as lost to them as all the others.
Whitney leaned over. "You know what Center regulations are if we find her, and she's been polluted."
Eliason knew. They would have to stake her, along with the vampire that made her. "Eradication's illegal in the West."
Whitney nodded. He let go of Eliason's arm. The pressure of his fingers left warm spots on Eliason's skin. "I'm going to see how bad it is," Whitney said. "Sometimes friends help each other in mysterious ways."
Whitney's words made a chill run up Eliason's back. The West had other programs. They would try those first. Cammie had to have a chance.
"Got it," DeFreeze said. He stood in the doorway, a manila file open in his hands. The light framed him from the back. "The Keg, off Burnside.[C&F144] She was meeting a man named Steve Henderson. She suspected he was a vampire. The report John and Norm filed confirmed that, although she got in and out of the bar unharmed. She was leaving a message for a Ben Sadler."
Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel Page 30