by S. J. Harper
“A human?” I ask. “One of the girls?”
“No. A man. They are calling him Cheng. It’s a common name among the Chinese, yes?”
“Yes,” I agree.
“Are the vampires armed?” asks Zack.
Kallistos grows quiet again. Seconds later he answers. “Owen doesn’t think so. I’m sure Lamont is confident he could handle any bidder who might get out of control. When we show ourselves, some of them might ally with Lamont against us. We must be prepared for that.”
With that he’s off, heading across the street with purpose, his long legs allowing him to quickly cover the ground. I’m a runner and in good physical shape, but I possess neither the speed nor coordination of a vampire or Were. My predatory powers exploit other physical attributes and, unfortunately, they’ll be of little use over the next few minutes.
Kallistos disappears behind a clump of palms surrounded by lush underbrush. I try to keep up, but trip on a tangle of roots. Zack catches me and sets me right without breaking stride. We use the cover of the landscape to progress up the long drive that curves up to the mission and the supporting buildings behind and adjacent. It’s uphill. I know I’m slowing them down and wonder, for the first time, whether they’d be better off without me. I push the thought aside.
I’ve thought long and hard about Zack’s request. If it falls apart, if he and Kallistos don’t survive, it will be up to me to get the girls out. The last time I released my powers within a group this large, the consequences were terrible because it’s impossible to control the desires and needs of dozens. I know if I have to resort to using my gift to interrupt violence, emotions will be high, the results brutal. It would be easy to redirect the attentions of the humans. But the vampires, and especially Lamont, would pose a challenge. I’ve survived such an assault before. I would undoubtedly survive again. And I would heal, eventually.
Kallistos has stopped. I peek around him. Ahead of us is an expanse of manicured lawn surrounded by a fence. He points to the far side. “We want to reach the canyon on the other side of the fence. See any security cameras?”
“I’m not seeing anything,” I answer.
“We’re good,” Zack agrees. “But stick to the fence line.”
Kallistos wraps his arm around my waist. “Hold on,” he says, softly.
Next thing I know, I am weightless. My feet have left the ground. For the briefest of moments I remember what it’s like, to launch myself into the air. To take flight. Kallistos clears the fence with ease. He lands firmly on his feet, then gently sets me down on mine.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod.
Zack lands next to me in a crouch, the strap of his gun across his chest, rifle on his back. His eyes glow in the dark, the silver-blue matching the color surrounding the sliver of moon now visible through the clouds. In an instant, he’s on his feet, weapon back in his hands, ready for action.
We move, quickly and quietly along the chain-link fence. We don’t have to jump this time, and for that I’m grateful. The terrain on the other side appears to be steep. We come to a gate, secured with a chain. Kallistos pulls on it, separating and breaking the steel links as easily as rotted thread. Then, a drop-off. Kallistos leaps down. The drop is twelve, maybe fifteen feet. He holds his arms up, as if he’s prepared to catch me. I hesitate.
“Jump,” Zack whispers in my ear. “Kallistos will catch you.”
I do. Kallistos catches me in his arms, swings me to the ground.
My partner ties one end of a cable around the fence post, then takes the leap himself. This time his landing isn’t quite as soft as mine. He lands, rolls. Momentum causes him to slide down the side of the canyon’s ravine another twenty, maybe twenty-five feet.
“Use the cable,” Zack says to me. “Ease yourself down the rest of the way to the bottom.” The command is heard through the earpiece. It’s as clear as when he was standing alongside me.
Now I understand why he insisted I wear gloves. I move swiftly, rappelling down hand over hand. Kallistos moves faster. Ignoring the cable, he propels himself past me, reaching the base before I’ve progressed more than a few feet.
“Four more of the bidders have arrived,” he’s saying. “A vampire from Los Angeles who has little sense and large political aspirations. A fairly young one from Mexico, sired by their current King. An older female vampire he recognizes from the San Francisco area. I’d considered hiring her once to create blends for the Emporiums. And . . . Moira.”
“Moira? Who’s Moira?” I ask when I reach the bottom.
“We have a history,” he replies.
His answer tells me nothing. It piques my curiosity. Do I want to know her story? I shake my head to clear it. It’s not important. Nothing is as important as rescuing those girls.
Kallistos heads for the San Diego River. It runs along the perimeter of the mission property and we begin to follow it.
Kallistos continues. “Owen has yet to see the girls. Lamont has explained each of the bidders will have the opportunity to sample the units before bidding commences.”
Units? The word appalls me.
“That’s what the glasses are for,” Zack says. “He’s conducting a blind tasting.”
A shiver runs up my spine. I suppose the glasses mean the blood has already been extracted. At least the vampires won’t be feeding directly from the girls. Perhaps Lamont’s way to assure none of the vampires go rogue and drain a prize before paying for it first?
Kallistos stops abruptly and I almost walk into him.
“Do we wait for the others?” I ask.
“Lamont has informed the group that the other two are en route and fifteen minutes away. If we move now, we could have this wrapped up before they arrive.” His gaze shifts from me to Zack. “I say we move now.”
“How much farther is it to the entrance?” I ask.
Kallistos places his hand on a nearby boulder. It’s waist-high on me and at least four feet wide.
My mouth gapes open. “That’s it? When you said rock—”
“I told you it was sizable. Come.” He motions toward Zack. “On three. One. Two. Three.”
The boulder lifts. Rolls. Comes to rest. The two men stand back, casually brushing dirt from their hands as if they haven’t just moved a boulder that must weigh a ton.
I step close to the opening. As Kallistos promised, he’s given us direct access to the tunnels. It’s a deep, dark hole. Kallistos passes me and descends, feetfirst, landing as lightly as a ballet dancer and motioning for me to follow. I look down. It’s about ten feet to the ground and I don’t trust if I jumped, I’d land nearly as gracefully.
Zack understands my hesitancy. He takes my hands and lowers me down. Kallistos’ arms snake around my waist and he eases me the rest of the way. Zack follows with an agile leap of his own. The supernatural do have physical abilities to be admired.
It’s dark and the air dense and stale. We set off, Kallistos using hand signals to point the way. If his recollection is correct, and I have no doubt it is, we have two hundred and fifty feet to go before reaching the circle. About thirteen minutes before the arrival of the two remaining vampires and whatever escorts will be coming with them.
CHAPTER 23
Kallistos moves with the silent grace of a panther through the tunnel. I follow. Zack brings up the rear. Suddenly Kallistos pauses, passing a hand over his face.
I fear Owen is saying something about the girls being harmed. “What is it?” I ask, my voice the barest of whispers.
Kallistos turns to face me. His eyes meet mine. With the help of the night-vision goggles, I see his lips move. I hear him through my earpiece. “They are preparing for the tasting. Carafes of blood are being brought out. Ten of them. The mood in the room is becoming frenzied. The two brothers and the prince from Mexico want to drink straight from the source, from the girls.” A pause. Then, “Owen fears he might have to participate.”
“Craig certainly would,” Zack says. “If Owen does
n’t, Lamont and his crew may get suspicious.”
I sense Kallistos’ hesitation and I understand it. Owen is in recovery. He’s come so far. Encouraging Owen to drink straight from the source is like giving a heroin addict permission to shoot up just this once. I want to tell him that we’ll all help Owen get through this. That it will be all right. That Owen can easily get back on track. But I can’t give those assurances or make those promises. I can’t guarantee Owen will come through unscathed, and we all know it.
I say the only thing I can. “We can’t risk the operation.”
Kallistos bows his head. “I already told him to go ahead.”
“Has Owen seen the girls yet?” Zack asks.
Kallistos shakes his head.
My stomach clutches. We’re once again on the move. At a slight fork in the tunnel, Kallistos bears right. He pauses for a moment at the base of a short flight of stairs. He’s listening intently.
Zack reaches past me and grasps Kallistos’ shoulder. He holds up one finger, tilts his head toward the route we’ve just abandoned. A guard is coming. The sounds of his footsteps drift through the tunnels. He’s carrying a radio. Amid the intermittent static, a command comes across loud and clear. He’s been ordered to open the entryway from within the mission itself. He’ll be called again when the last of the bidders are five minutes out. Apparently Kallistos is wrong about it no longer being accessible.
Zack motions for us to stay back. I unsnap the catch on my holster and wrap my hand around the butt of my gun. Zack draws a wicked-looking wooden knife from a sheath at his thigh.
Kallistos wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me deeper into the stairwell. He continues climbing upward. I’m torn between staying to back up Zack and pressing forward to search for the girls. I close my eyes. Zack is capable. Saving the girls is my priority. Decision made, I follow Kallistos, my weapon now drawn.
Before I reach the top of the stairs, I hear the distant sound of a brief scuffle, followed by the brittle rustle of disintegrating flesh and bone—vampires turning to ash. Zack rounds the corner. He takes the stairs two at a time and catches up with us, a pile of clothing and the guard’s radio in his arms. I heave a sigh of relief.
We’ve reached the top. Zack and I follow Kallistos into a chamber lit with torches. My skin crawls as I take in the surroundings. I remove the goggles and secure them to my utility belt. The room has been outfitted with ten cages. Small cages. Certainly not big enough for a woman or girl to stand. I touch the bars of one. My stomach turns, sickened by what the girls have endured and by the animals who have conspired to imprison them. This is where they’ve been kept. The cages are set on blocks. Each one has a water bottle inside. A bucket underneath. The smell of urine and human waste overcomes my senses. Nearby is a hose connected to a water supply and generator. Water drips from the end of it. Sections of the floor are wet. Did they use it to hose down the ground? The girls? In a corner, a heap of clothes lies abandoned along with purses and schoolbooks. A tennis racket leans against the wall.
Zack crouches down next to the assortment of skirts and blouses, jeans and sweaters. He buries his face in the pile, then scents the air. How he could possibly discern anything over the stench of filth, I’ll never know. With haste, he sweeps the bundle of clothes from the dead vampire into the bottom of the pile.
An open door in the far corner of the room draws Zack’s attention. He moves toward it, his rifle in his hands and at the ready. The air is fresher here, and moving, indicating that either a door to the outside is somewhere close or that this area opens up onto the larger space Kallistos mentioned, the one where the tasting is set to take place. Either way, it’s clear Zack’s following a trail. He’s following the girls’ scents.
Zack crouches down low and moves through the doorway. An instant later, Kallistos follows. This time I bring up the rear. The vampire and the Were are waiting in the shadows, hunkered down behind a small outcropping of rock. I see a stairway to the right but I can’t tell where it goes. For the moment, it’s unoccupied. I take a slow, deep breath to clear my head, then cover the few remaining feet as quickly as I can. Voices drift up from below. I strain to listen. Something is said that causes a wave of laughter. Zack slides his cell phone from his pocket along with a USB cord. He plugs one end into the phone, pops what looks like a tiny cap on the other end. It’s not a cap. It’s a camera. The three of us huddle around the screen. We have a bird’s-eye view of the room below.
The scene is much as Owen described to Kallistos. I can see now that the stairway to our right leads down to the bottom of a pit, the room Kallistos had called the circle. A stage has been erected. It’s eight, maybe ten feet directly below us, six feet above the ground. A long table is in the middle, ten chairs on one side. Ten places. Each set with crystal goblets that sparkle in the light of dozens of torches.
If the time on Zack’s phone is correct, we now have eight minutes remaining.
Of the eight vampires seated at the table, I recognize only Owen—or Craig—none of the others. When I glance at Kallistos, his eyes seem to be focusing primarily on one. A woman. Moira, I suspect.
Zack moves the camera ever so slightly, providing us a wider perspective. Four vampires stand at attention at the foot of the dais. In front of them, carafes of blood are set on a side table. Each carafe is labeled with a number.
The sound of someone clapping echoes through the chamber. “Our remaining guests should be arriving shortly. Soon, we’ll begin pouring. Please refrain from sampling until everyone has arrived. Until then, we have a treat for you.”
From around the back of the dais, the vampire speaking steps into view. He makes a dramatic entrance, face beaming. He’s holding a large carafe in one hand, a glass filled with blood in the other. His appearance is greeted with a standing ovation from those at the table. I shiver in disgust.
“Lamont.” Kallistos hisses the name.
“Welcome, my friends.” Lamont’s accent is softly Southern, his voice low and throaty. “You have been singled out among all our brethren to partake in a unique opportunity. After all, how often is it you find ten virgins gathered together in one spot? Especially here in Southern California?”
The bidders laugh.
Lamont moves to the head of the table. His gait is smooth, his gestures grand. Like Kallistos, he’s tall and lanky. That, however, is where the similarities end. Lamont’s hair is close-cropped and white-blond. In fact, he’s dressed all in white—suit, shirt, tie. His skin is pale, drawn tight as if shrink-wrapped over prominent cheekbones. But it’s his eyes, heavy lidded, reptilian, and his lips, too full and colorless, that make his face appear more animal than human.
“I have fasted for a week,” he proclaims, raising his glass. “Tonight we will feast!”
One of the vampires who have been standing at attention appears by his side. He takes the carafe from Lamont and begins to pour.
“A little something from my private stock to get the party going!”
Several of the vampires seated at the table lick their lips in anticipation as a generous pour is splashed into the goblets in front of them. Once the glasses are all filled, the server steps down off the dais and resumes his prior position.
Zack hands me the camera, moves onto his knees. He raises the rifle. Lamont is in his sight. Quick as lightning, Kallistos wraps his hand around the barrel. Zack glares at him. He’d had a clear shot. He could have taken Lamont out. Why didn’t Kallistos let him? Is Zack right? Does Kallistos want Lamont for himself?
Something is happening below. It draws our attention.
A door opens. Ford and another man—I imagine the one they call Cheng—usher in the ten missing girls. They are barefoot, dressed in white robes, their hair wet and dripping, though none of them seems to notice. They have no idea where they are or what is going on around them. They don’t even realize they’ve just been hosed down like horses after a race. Each and every one of their faces is completely blank, stamped with the thousand-m
ile stare of being in thrall as they line up in front of the stage, then kneel in the dirt. Julie, Sylvia, and Hannah are among them.
Lamont describes the product he is offering as if introducing a new kind of breakfast drink. The vampires around the table burst into applause, coos, and whistles. Several of the bidders stand in order to get a better look at the merchandise.
“I share my bounty with you now. I trust you will share yours with me later.” He raises his glass. “Now, I know some of you may be uneasy. It could very well be your . . . first time with a virgin.” He smiles down at the captives before turning his attention back to the bidders. “This is Kallistos’ territory, after all, and he has strict rules about partaking from an unwilling source.”
I feel Kallistos tense.
Lamont continues. “But we are vampire, are we not? Not even your rulers should prohibit an act that is as natural to us as—well—not breathing.”
This time, the ripple of laughter is a little more subdued. For a brief moment, I hold out hope that mentioning their sovereign reminds these vampires of what they will face if Kallistos finds out what they’re doing. But then I look at the faces around the table, and I realize they are too far gone. Drowning in lust and hunger. And not only for blood.
Lamont drains his glass, then dramatically throws it across the room. Shards rain down and ricochet off the wall behind the girls. They don’t move or flinch even as the other vampires follow suit. Owen included. Whether he’s playing a role or succumbed to the barbarism, I can’t tell. Maybe I don’t want to know. What I do know is that he’s probably just tasted the most exquisite blood he’s ever had and the battle raging inside must be tearing him apart.
I take advantage of the uproar. I’m watching the girls, immobile, unblinking as stone. In this state, they will be powerless to help themselves. We need a plan. I know of only two ways to break thrall. The vampire responsible can voluntarily release his victim. Or the victim is released upon the final death of the initiating vampire.