Last Vampire Standing

by Nancy Haddock

  That thought made me shiver to my toes.

  “He’s right, Cesca.”

  “Guys, we can’t practice outside without being targets.”

  “We can if whoever it was doesn’t know where to find us,” Jo-Jo said. “There’s a little neighborhood park near the comedy club. No one will expect us to be there.”

  Saber nodded. “We’ll meet you there. Cesca, what time are your next two tours?”

  “Both at nine.”

  “Then we’ll meet Jo-Jo at eleven. You’ll practice for an hour, maybe less, and we’ll get out of there.”

  He enfolded me in his arms and kissed me on the cheek.

  “And, if you can find that damned cat who’s supposed to be protecting you, tell her I want her on patrol. Both nights.”

  “Aren’t you coming back after you take Jo-Jo to the motel?”

  Mouth tight, he shook his head. “First, I’m dropping in on Ike and company. Then I’m going home to check the online GPS readouts of every vamp in my territory.”

  “Why?”

  “Because no one but a ninja or a vampire could’ve gotten out of that tree without detection.”

  He didn’t have to tell me it wasn’t a ninja.

  ELEVEN

  I fought feeling abandoned when Saber left with Jo-Jo. I knew he had to go, but my heart still pounded two beats too fast, and I couldn’t munch ice fast enough to ease my dry mouth. Mostly, I wished Saber had been there to hold me.

  Take control, my rational voice said as I crunched another ice cube. Be the affect, not the effect.

  Stupid voice didn’t know how close it had come to being permanently silenced.

  If Triton hadn’t warned me, I could be dead. If I hadn’t listened to the warning, I could be dead. If the shooter’s aim had been better, I could be forever dead.

  Wait. Why wasn’t the sniper a better shot? For that matter, why would a vamp use a rifle at all? Vampires didn’t rely on firearms. They killed up close and disgustingly personal.

  Which either meant this vamp couldn’t kill me up close or didn’t want to be identified.

  Damn it all, I hadn’t survived over two centuries in that crummy coffin to be killed by a sneaky sniper. I’d listen to my rational voice and take charge.

  To that end, I closed all the drapes, reset the alarm, and even checked the escape hatch in my closet to be sure I hadn’t blocked it with boxes. Nope. The closet system shoe rack swung away at a touch to reveal the escape tunnel behind it. The hatch moved smoothly and silently and sealed completely.

  Not that I thought the shooter was hanging around. In fact, Hugh Lister posed more of a threat. Yep, if I tuned in with vampire hearing, I could hear Hugh swearing viciously enough to peel the enamel off his teeth. Selma? She blessed to the heavens and muttered something about a long cruise and her damn vodka.

  Since I couldn’t do anything about the Listers, I decided to dial up Triton on the telepathic airwaves. He’d darned well better answer my call.

  I went to my desk and plucked the chain and mermaid charm from the tiki mug. Then I quieted and centered myself, the charm in my left hand. This time, the white noise buzz passed quickly into the song of ocean waves, and Triton’s mental door opened a slit.

  “How did you know about the sniper?” I whispered.

  The cat. Be alert and aware.

  “But where is she?”

  Triton’s mental door vanished, but Pandora’s thoughts poured in.

  Princess Vampire, I am nearby once again.

  “Are you all right?”

  I am well. You must wear the talisman so I may be fully attuned to you.

  “Is that what happened tonight? You couldn’t find me?”

  Pandora was silent for so long, I thought she’d cut the connection.

  I was diverted by another signal.

  “Like what? The mother ship?”

  I regretted being snarky when I sensed her confusion. “Never mind. Did you see the shooter?”

  I arrived too late. I know only it was a vampire. Triton will try to learn more.

  “Peachy, and will one of you please tell me when you get the scoop? Saber would like to catch this guy, you know. Oh, and he wants you to patrol when I practice flying tomorrow night. Can you do it?”

  Wear the mermaid, and I shall find you.

  “Uh, Pandora. About the charm.”

  Silence.

  “Pandora?”

  The panther had left the building. I was getting more than a little fed up with these secretive shape-shifters and their cryptic messages.

  I stared at the charm in my hand but hesitated to slip the steel chain over my head. Why? Because radio signal or not, I didn’t want my wearing Triton’s talisman to be an issue between Saber and me. Options. I needed options.

  I could stick the charm inside my bra. The old lady who had last owned Maggie’s Victorian house had spoken to her grand-daughter about carrying mad money in her bra. Of course, at the time I’d still been buried in the forgotten basement, so I hadn’t understood what mad money was. Or what a bra was, for that matter.

  I could put the charm and chain in a tiny plastic jewelry bag, and wear that inside my bra. Would plastic interfere with the signal?

  The heck with options. I needed a decision.

  I settled on putting the charm in a scrap of drapery material and fastened it with mini safety pins. There. That I could stuff in my bra. Place it under one boob, and Saber would never be the wiser. It was padded enough not to stick or scratch me, and just uncomfortable enough that I’d remember to remove it before Saber and I made love.

  Speaking of Saber, was he already home and on his computer looking up vampire GPS records? I glanced at the dolphin clock on my desk. Two in the morning. Probably not. He might still be at Ike’s club.

  I wished I could help Saber investigate, but realized I could do some research on Jo-Jo’s would-be agent. That might be dull enough to lull my heartbeat back to normal.

  After thirty minutes, I’d read all I could find on Vince Atlas in cyber land. He was, indeed, the real deal, and even represented some actors and actresses I’d heard of. A shocker since I watch mostly HGTV and classic TV shows and movies. There were Darlene Dickens and Jonathan Barlow, young stars of the new office comedy Time Card, and then there was Shane Steele. Shane was a hunka-hunka burning blond who’d appeared in two action movies I’d watched with Saber.

  If Jo-Jo decided to sign the contract with Vince—and I knew he would—he’d be in great company.

  I awoke at three on Thursday afternoon, showered, and checked messages while I downed my daily Starbloods. Saber had called to tell me he’d contacted the attorney to look at Jo-Jo’s contract. Randy Tate’s office was just a mile from the Island Inn where Vince and his wife were staying. Saber didn’t report anything about the sniper, or his drop-in on Ike and company, but told me he’d see me later.

  By four thirty, I’d finished running errands—Jo-Jo’s and my own—so I drove through Davis Shores checking out houses Saber might be interested in seeing. In the process, I found the neighborhood park Jo-Jo had mentioned. Except for a decorative well, the park was an expanse of grass lined with live oaks and palms. Here we’d spot a human sniper with one eye closed, but a vampire shooter was a wild card. I resolved to be more alert tonight, even with Pandora on the prowl.

  Traffic back across the temporary Bridge of Lions was heavy on Thursdays due to the summer concerts held in the Plaza de la Constitución. And, of course, the drawbridge delayed me, too. Which was all right. I had over three hours to change into my costume, and I might just stop in at the concert before my tour began. Music always lifts one’s spirits, right?

  Lawn chairs and coolers cluttered the plaza by eight that night, the concertgoers tapping their feet to the bluegrass music. I listened awhile, people-watched, and thought about how different things were now than they had been when I was young.

  Oh, the plaza had been here forever, with Matanzas Bay on the east, and the
Government House on the west. Townspeople gathered to visit the market, hear the latest proclamations, and exchange gossip. The women gossiped here, anyway. The men crowded into taverns to hear the news sailors brought from ports around the world.

  At eight thirty, I left the plaza to meet my tour group. I wandered up Cathedral Place, past the bank building where I’d lived with Maggie in her condo penthouse on the sixth floor. We had good times there, but I was happy we lived in separate homes now. Much as I missed our late-night talks, having men in both our lives called for more privacy.

  As I strode north on St. George Street, it occurred to me that I’d never had private space in my old life. My parents’ household and those of our neighbors had bustled with activity. Home had echoed with my mother’s scolding, with the noise of my boisterous brothers, and later, with the voices of their wives and children. A comfortable sort of chaos, but confining.

  The only times I’d known quiet were those when I’d snagged one of my father’s boats and headed to the island. Sometimes I’d play in the waves, other times I’d sit on the beach and stargaze. I made getaways with or without Triton, but more often with him. Those were carefree times, and, though I was ticked at Triton right now, I had loved him then.

  Maggie said a woman never forgot her first love, and she was right. But Saber was my first in more important ways than Triton could be. I didn’t agree with Saber on every topic under the Florida sun, but I could talk with him or share quiet time with him. We certainly had no problems between the sheets.

  Well, that thought dispelled my melancholy, and so did seeing Jag Queen Millie waiting for me.

  “Cesca!” She grabbed me in a fierce hug. “Thank God you’re in one piece! Kay heard from her hairdresser that there was a shooting at your place last night. What in the world happened?”

  “Someone took potshots at us from a tree and got away.”

  Millie tut-tutted. “I’ll bet it was that nasty Gorman character giving you trouble again. But, my dear, should you be out in the open with this armed nut running around?”

  “I’m sure the tour patrons will be safe, Millie. I refused to hide from Gorman the last time, and I won’t hide from him or anyone else this time.”

  “That’s the spirit. Now, Cesca,” she said with a jerk of her head, “who is that strange skinny man with all the cameras and gadgets?”

  I didn’t have to look to know Millie was talking about Kevin Miller, but I glanced at him anyway. He held one of his precious meters and wove his way through the fifteen other tourists waiting for me to start.

  “He’s a post-graduate-school ghostbuster,” I told her as I bent to retrieve the lantern from the substation cabinet.

  “Well, he certainly is odd. He’s been telling all and sundry that he’s about to crack your code for connecting with ghosts and make a killing. What is that supposed to mean?”

  I straightened fast enough to make myself dizzy. Make a killing? Could Saber’s intel be wrong? Could Kevin be the shooter? He was young, wiry, and had to be strong to carry that equipment like a pack mule. Maybe those high-tech gadgets fit together to make a .22 rifle, just like in a James Bond movie.

  As I watched, Kevin tripped on a cobblestone, then tiptoe-danced his lanky frame around three couples in the effort not to mow them down.

  Okay, if those gadgets fit together to make a rifle, it would be more like Maxwell Smart than James Bond. Still, Pandora had warned me of betrayal and treachery. Despite his earnest eyes and guileless grin, was Kevin a killer in geek clothing?

  “Cesca!” Millie said near my ear.

  I flinched. “He’s a little odd but harmless. Are you taking the tour tonight, Millie?”

  “No, dear, but I didn’t come just to grill you about the shooting either. Fact is,” she said with a faint blush, “I met a new gentleman friend for a drink earlier. Dan was walking me to the parking garage when I heard that Kevin person blabbing.”

  “Is your friend still here?”

  Millie nodded at a man in his sixties sporting navy cotton slacks, a sky blue shirt, and a head of white hair a movie star would envy. He gazed at Millie with an endearingly besotted expression.

  “I’d introduce you to Dan, but I think it’s rather early in our acquaintance for him to meet my friends. I don’t want to pressure him, if you know what I mean.”

  I chuckled. “He doesn’t know about the Jag Queens yet?”

  “I need to break that to him soon, don’t I? By the way, will you be able to make the preseason game?”

  “Not this time.” I patted Millie’s arm. “You go be with your gentleman, Millie. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Millie and Dan walked off arm in arm, and I dove into my opening spiel.

  “Welcome to the Old Coast Ghost Walk. I’m Cesca Marinelli, born here in St. Augustine in 1780.”

  “That was during the British period, wasn’t it?”

  “Exactly,” I answered the studious-looking woman. “The Peace of Paris returned Florida to Spain in 1783, which marked the second Spanish period. Of course, the city was over two hundred years old by that time, and the ghost population only grew from there.

  “Now, if you’ll start toward the city gates and hand me your tickets as you go by, we’ll begin our tour with the Huguenot Cemetery. Oh, and if you feel a ghostly presence at the gates, say hi to Elizabeth.”

  The group moved out, passing me their tickets. Kevin came last, fumbling a meter as he searched his pockets.

  “Hi, Ms. Marinelli. Can you hold this a minute?”

  He shoved the gadget in my hand, and when the meter immediately screeched, he grabbed it back and peered at the screen. “Wow, wicked awesome EMF reading.”

  “Anything for science,” I said dryly. “Find your ticket?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Never mind. Let’s go.”

  “The Huguenot Cemetery,” I said when I caught up with my tourists, “was established in 1821 to accommodate those who died from the yellow fever epidemic that swept through St. Augustine. The last burial here took place in 1884, and most who are interred here are Protestants. During Spanish rule, only Catholics were buried inside the city proper.”

  As we approached, three ghosts waited for us, two who looked positively gleeful. I also spotted Gorman on the opposite side of the stone-fenced cemetery but ignored him to launch into the stories of Judge Stickney, and of Erastus Nye, John Lyman, and John Gifford Hull.

  “Erastus and the two Johns are said to have come to St. Augustine from the north shortly before their deaths, and all were buried side by side, their tombstones nearly identical.” I didn’t mention that the three could be pranksters, too. I didn’t want to influence an experience anyone might have.

  While Kevin muttered excitedly over his equipment, I told the stories of graveyard lore, stories I only told once a week and only because they were required. They hit disturbingly close to home.

  “Especially in the height of plagues such as yellow fever, the dead were buried quickly to prevent further spread of the disease. However, not everyone who was buried was quite dead.

  “In some cases, victims presented all the outward signs of death but regained consciousness after being buried. We know this because, when coffins were later moved, claw marks were evident inside the lids. The victims had desperately attempted to free themselves.”

  Several people in the crowd visibly shuddered, me right along with them. The residual energy of victims buried alive and clawing to escape made me sick with horror.

  “Thus, those who died of certain illnesses,” I continued, “began being buried with a string tied to one hand. That string was also tied to a bell at ground level. Families, friends, or those hired to do the job began keeping watch in graveyards at night. If a bell rang, the person interred was quickly unearthed and freed. From this practice, the phrases graveyard shift and saved by the bell are said to have come into use.”

  As I shepherded my group to the rest of the sights, Kevin seemed to grow more sub
dued. That is, until we reached the south end of town near the plaza then moved to the bay front. Kevin said a litany of ohmygods as he filmed, enough to spook even the hovering Gorman.

  At eleven o’clock that night, with the lighthouse beam sweeping the sky, Saber and I arrived at the park to find Pandora in her house cat form lounging on the rim of the well. No Jo-Jo.

  “You didn’t frighten Jo-Jo away, did you?” I asked her.

  Pandora snorted.

  “I take it that’s a no. Has she patrolled the area?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Saber frowned. “Cesca, I don’t hold conversations with werecreatures.”

  “Pandora isn’t a were. She’s—”

  “A magical shape-shifter, I know.” He gave Pandora the eye.

  “All right. Did you see anything suspicious?”

  No, and I admire this man for speaking to me.

  “She says no, but thanks you for talking to her directly.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Who’s welcome for whaaa—” Jo-Jo said, flying in from behind us, but faltering in his landing when he saw Pandora.

  If a cat could roll its eyes, Pandora did.

  “It’s okay. Pandora is our lookout tonight.”

  “Uh-huh. Just as long as she stays that size. By the way, I got a call from Vince tonight. He has me booked to open for a band at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas on Wednesday. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s great, Jo-Jo,” I said. “Congratulations.”

  “You’ll have Jemina eating crow in no time,” Saber added. “Just don’t gamble away your paycheck.”

  “That’s no problem. I don’t have the face to bluff.” He grinned and rubbed his hands together. “All right, Highness, let’s start with jumping levitation since we had to cut that short last night.”

  Pandora hopped off the well and trotted around the park, stopping now and then to sniff the grass or the air. Was that just a cat thing, or was she detecting trouble?

  I jumped and hovered, then practiced standing levitation. I didn’t get off the ground much in either exercise, and tripped over myself trying those walking takeoffs. I knew it was all in my head, but I kept hearing those phfft sounds of bullets whizzing by me the night before.