Life in Moonlight: The Primigenio Tales: Book 1

by Alison Beightol

  “Not to change the subject, but by all accounts, Lauryl’s club seems to be quite a success.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yes, from what I’ve been told, it’s been filled to capacity every night. No sign of her or Dr. Wilson, though.”

  “Have you been?”

  “Oh no. That sort of place isn’t my style at all. Now, my lovely Isabelle would fit in much better there.” She petted Isabelle again.

  Eamon agreed. The girl was beautiful and would fit in at whatever trendy club she set foot in. He smiled at her and she lowered her head. “I don’t think it would be the type of place I would frequent either, but I plan to visit.” Eamon had planned to go to the opening of the club to look for Lauryl but instead he opted out to take Amelie to the Florida Aquarium benefit.

  Marta leaned forward some, bumping Isabelle forward with her. Marta put her arm around Isabelle’s waist. “I have an idea. Let’s go! All three of us. I think it would be great fun.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Oh, come now,” Marta encouraged. “See what your money has done. At the same time, let any real vampires hanging around there see you.”

  “That’s not something I have any interest in right now.”

  Marta whispered something in Isabelle’s ear, sending her out of the room. She then crossed over to Eamon. “It’s already settled,” she said, extending her delicate hand to him.

  “Marta, really, I’d prefer to go home and check on Amelie. Since she returned from Gainesville, she’s been ill,” he said as he looked at her over the top of his glasses. He pulled out his phone to see if Amelie had texted him. Nothing. She was probably sleeping. He’d forgotten about how a human dealt with illness since it had been so long since he’d been ill. Poor thing. He’d send her some flowers when he got home.

  She dropped her hand down and sighed. “Yes, Eamon I hear the words you say, but I think you’ve played the part of the lovesick vampire too long now. You’ve moped around Tampa waiting for one companion who obviously doesn’t want to be with you. Now you’re beginning to torture yourself over this current girl. What are you afraid of? That she’ll reject you like Lauryl did? And what if she does? For you, is that such a loss?”

  “I’ll allow you some leniency in what you say to me, Marta, but don’t test my limits.” He stood up and looked into her eyes. Her blue gray gaze met and locked into his. After a second, though, she lowered her eyes and took a step back. “Thank you.”

  “I ask your forgiveness for the method I chose but not the message. In order to find a human, don’t ever think you can become one again. You should know that.”

  “You’re forgiven.” The clarity of Marta’s statement caused him to reflect for a moment. Out of line or not, she had a point. He was trying to relate to a human as a human and that didn’t work for a vampire.

  Marta walked past him and stood at the front door. “Isabelle has brought the car around I’d be honored if you join us.”

  Without a word, he walked out of the front door and got in the back of the black S-class Mercedes. Marta got in the front and looked at Isabelle.

  “Isa, you know where this place is, don’t you?” she asked her lover.

  “Yes, I’ve already called to get us in the VIP entrance,” Isabelle replied as she pulled the car out of the drive.

  “That’s one of the reasons that you please me so,” Marta said, skimming her nails up Isa’s firm thigh.

  Eamon, amused and aroused by their flirting, shifted to get a better view of the two of them. “How long before you turn her, Marta?”

  Marta laughed. “As soon as she asks me,” she replied as her hand disappeared under Isabelle’s skirt. The sedan lurched forward and sped off as Marta’s nimble fingers continued to tease Isa.

  * * *

  Isabelle turned in front of Channelside and snaked her way toward Ybor City. The sidewalks were crowded with young people filing in and out of the clubs and restaurants. The random markers of vampires, obviously taking advantage of this rich hunting ground, hit Eamon. She pulled down a derelict side street paved with old, red cobblestones and parked behind a large brick warehouse. A well-muscled man sporting a mohawk and wearing a black t-shirt came out of a metal door and knocked on the car window with a large silver ring on his index finger.

  “What the fuck, girl?” he said as Isabelle rolled the window down. “No parking.”

  “I called ahead. Dita is VIP-ing us.”

  The man looked at Marta and Eamon and back at Isabelle. “If you say so.” He opened Isabelle’s door and she climbed out. Eamon climbed out of the back and opened Marta’s door. Marta took his hand and the two of them joined Isabelle in front of the rusty door. As the large man ducked in the car, he pulled out a walkie-talkie and hit the page button.

  “Send Dita to the back door. She’s got guests.” Without waiting for a response, he hit the gas and disappeared with the car.

  “I hope you’ll see your car again,” Eamon said. He stared at the back of the warehouse, shook his head with disappointment and frowned. The odor of human vomit mixed with alcohol drifted by and he closed his eyes, trying to keep his temper in check. The markers of vampires close by tapped at him. He opened his eyes. He could feel them both inside the building and around the perimeter.

  Marta linked her arm in Eamon’s. “You’re worrying for nothing, I think.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek. He turned his face and instead she kissed his lips. She smiled. “I wasn’t expecting that.” She kissed him again. “It’s nice.”

  The sound of metal locks sliding and giving way echoed for a minute and then the door opened. A lanky, twenty-something girl with blood red hair peeked out. She wore a heavy coating of white makeup and the contacts in her eyes were a strange, bile color.

  “Izzy?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” Isabelle stepped where the other girl could see her better.

  “You’re not alone, right? You have your Mistress with you.” Dita looked at Eamon and took a step back “And someone I don’t know.”

  “Do you need to know me?” Eamon snapped. He took a step closer to the offbeat girl.

  Dita shook her head and Marta placed her hand on her cheek. “Best not to ask any questions of my guest, querida.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she squeaked. “If y’all will follow me.” She motioned the three of them in and locked the door.

  Muffled techno music from the club echoed through the dark hallway. Marta curled her finger through a belt loop on his pants.

  I don’t think she’s here, Eamon, she said into his mind.

  He looked at her. A tense smile thinly disguised his anger.

  Dita opened a door and they ascended a flight of stairs. She punched a series of numbers into a keypad and the door slid open revealing a dimly lit room. Black leather sofas and overstuffed chairs covered with burgundy velvet furnished the expansive room. Large, broken mirrors with gilded frames hung on the walls and huge candle stands blazed with black and red candles. Mountains of wax piled up at their bases. Across one wall was a huge window that overlooked the club and the dance floor. He could see masses of pale-faced, darkly-clad humans bouncing and writhing to the music that poured from the sound system.

  “Can I have anything sent up to y’all?” Dita asked, avoiding Eamon’s gaze.

  “Tell me, querida, who’s here tonight?” Marta asked as she sank into one of the burgundy chairs.

  “A couple of football players, a judge. There was a reporter from one of the TV stations, but I think she left.”

  “No, no, no, silly. Who like me and my handsome friend?” Marta prompted.

  Dita looked from Marta to Eamon. “There are several vampires here but none like you and him.” She nodded at Eamon, who had seated himself on one of the sofas looking out of the window at the dance floor.

  “No? What about the owner? Is she here? I would love to meet her,” Marta continued.

  Eamon turned his head to Dita, who bounced from foot to foot. “She’s not
here. And this one has figured out who I am.” He looked back to the window. He followed a female vampire leading a young man to a hallway. “She isn’t going to lie because she knows she can’t, but she’s too afraid to tell the truth.”

  “Is that true?” Marta asked Dita.

  “Dita, girl, you know you can’t lie or hide anything from them,” Isabelle said.

  “Yes,” she said in a shaky voice.

  Eamon rolled his eyes and grew more impatient with the odd female. “Yes to what?”

  “Yes, I know who you are and yes, she isn’t here,” she breathed before backing into a chair and sat down.

  “Does she come here often? Have you ever seen her?” Marta asked.

  Dita kept her eyes on Eamon. “I don’t know. I haven’t ever seen her. I swear. All I know is that we were all given a description of him and told to be on the lookout for him.”

  “Why?” Marta asked.

  “I don’t know. They didn’t tell us that. Oh, I swear I don’t know!” Dita squirmed in the chair.

  Eamon’s patience vanished and he glanced over at Marta. “She doesn’t know anything. Get the highest ranking vampire up here.”

  “You heard him, Dita.”

  Dita looked over at Isabelle, whose expression remained neutral. She pulled the radio out of the holster around her hip and licked her dry lips. “Lucy, can Ivory come up to VIP 3?”

  “What? Why?” the voice squawked back.

  “Marta Jimenez-de Castillo is here with her companion. She wants to say hello.”

  “I’ll pass the word.”

  “Do you know this one called Ivory?” Eamon asked Marta.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a vampire called Ivory.”

  “Everyone here has like a stage name,” Dita said.

  Eamon rolled his eyes again. He then turned back to the capacity crowd downstairs. The club was successful. The frown remained on his face until he felt the approaching presence of a newborn vampire. As it felt the powerful markers of Eamon and Marta, the vampire slowed its approach.

  Don’t stop now, young one, Eamon told the vampire silently. Keep coming. I’m not going to hurt you.

  The door slid open and Ivory sauntered into the room. She was short and curvy with black hair that was pulled back into a harsh, patent strap-wrapped ponytail. She wore a black, vinyl Asian-style dress with a calf-length hobble skirt. Black five-inch lace up platform shoes completed her outfit. As confining as the outfit was, she managed to glide across the floor. No sooner than she was five steps in the room, she stopped. Her eyes fixed on Eamon and her blasé expression changed to one of fear. She recovered her composure and turned to Dita.

  “Which of our guests would like to speak to me?” Ivory asked. She looked at Marta and bowed her head slightly. “It is an honor to have you here, Señorita Jimenez-de Castillo.”

  “Look at me,” Eamon clipped.

  Ivory’s head snapped toward him, the shiny ponytail trailing behind. She instinctively took a step backwards and lowered her head completely. “Sir.”

  “I appreciate you coming to speak with us,” Eamon said.

  Ivory kept her head down. The ancient energy that emanated from Eamon held her captive. “You’re welcome,” she mumbled.

  “Would you feel better if you sat down?” Eamon offered.

  She nodded, still keeping her head down.

  “Then by all means. And you may look up now.”

  Ivory sat down close to Marta with Dita and Isabelle serving as obstacles between her and Eamon. She turned and looked in the direction of Eamon, but not at him. “Thank you.”

  “What’s your name?” Eamon asked her.

  “Here it’s Ivory. My real name is Sasha, Sasha Werner.”

  “How long have you been a vampire?”

  “Seventy-six years.”

  “And you’re the senior vampire here tonight?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you still remember your maker?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Never forget where you come from.” He stood up, walked over to her, and took a seat on the arm of her chair. “You were what, barely eighteen when you were turned?”

  “It was my eighteenth birthday,” she said quietly.

  Eamon’s fingers grazed her chin. Look at me, he said into her mind. He felt her lingering shyness and fear, but she raised her face toward his. “Do you like being a vampire?” he asked, caressing her chin.

  “Yes, I do,” she whispered.

  “Can you imagine anyone who wouldn’t?” Eamon gazed down at her. His gaze drifted over her with the same alluring sensation of his hand. He smiled at her, intensifying the hold he had over her.

  Ivory/Sasha lowered her eyes. “No.”

  “I can’t either. Nevertheless, some don’t.” He looked around the room again, taking in all of Lauryl’s creation. “They have a sort of love-hate relationship with it. Loving it when it’s good to them or suits them and hating it when it isn’t.”

  The room remained silent for a few moments after Eamon stopped speaking and then Marta spoke. “Is this club successful, Sasha? I’m going to call you Sasha as that is your given name.”

  At first, Sasha remained silent and appeared as if she did hear Marta. She stared demurely at the floor while Eamon caressed her face. After a second, Eamon stopped and put his hand down.

  She’s asked you a question, Eamon said in her mind.

  Reluctantly, Sasha turned back to Marta. “Yes, it’s filled to capacity from opening to last call every night. People come from Atlanta, Miami, and Jacksonville just to check it out.”

  “Lots of our kind patronize it?” Marta asked.

  “It depends on the night and what is going on here. Mainly it’s thrill seekers and posers. They love it. They think the actual vampires in the club are actors. There are more humans that work here than vampires.”

  “How many, querida?” Marta asked.

  “I’m the manager. Then there are a couple of dancers and two on security. Everyone else is human.”

  “Who employed you?” Marta continued.

  Sasha’s eyes were wide with reluctance and fear. “Sir, I don’t want you to be angry at me.”

  “Then tell me the truth. As long as you do that, I’ll consider you an ally and not an enemy.”

  Sasha nodded her head, signaling that she understood the meaning implied in his words.

  “Anthony hired me.”

  “Wilson?” Eamon snapped.

  Sasha’s eyes widened. “Yes.”

  Irritation turned to anger. His fangs dropped down and his fist clenched but after a moment, he managed to assume a more composed posture. “Is he one of our kind?”

  Sasha dug her nails into the arm of the chair and nodded.

  “I knew it,” he mumbled. A mental image of Lauryl feeding on the idiot doctor passed through his mind. He forced the offensive image away. The fear from the newborn in front of him distracted him. Eamon turned back to Sasha. Her blue eyes begged him not to be angry with her.

  It’s not you I’m angry with, Sasha, Eamon whispered in her mind.

  She nodded. “But he wasn’t when he did all of the hiring. That only just happened I think. He came in to check on the club and he had been turned.”

  “Thank you, Sasha,” Marta said.

  “I just told you what you wanted to know.” She looked from Marta to Eamon. “I don’t even like him. I can’t say anything because I know who turned him. And who turned her.”

  “We’re leaving,” Eamon said.

  Marta and Isabelle stood. “Sasha, you’ve been very helpful and you’ve done nothing wrong. My friend is troubled by what he has learned. I think you know why. Dita, be a dear and send for my car.”

  Eamon was already heading out the door.

  * * *

  The three rode in tense silence most of the way. Finally, Eamon shook his head in disgust. “I knew she would turn Wilson. I hate that he is part of my li
ne.”

  “I’m sure word will travel fast that you paid a visit to Bathory.”

  “At this point Marta, I really don’t care.”

  Isa turned the car into the drive. Without a word, Eamon got out and walked over to his Porsche. Marta followed him and placed her hand on his arm.

  “Best not to act right now,” she said with a sympathetic pat on his shoulder.

  “I have no intention of acting on anything. Right now, I just need to think.” Without another word, he got in his car and drove off.

  * * *

  So Lauryl had turned the doctor? It really wasn’t that much of a surprise. She wanted to be with him so she did what a vampire would do, she turned him. He sat back in his desk chair and looked over at the Degas painting propped against the wall. He smiled to himself for a moment but it faded when he looked up at the painting above it. The large portrait of Irina painted by Thomas Gainsborough hung centered on the wall.

  He’d always loved the portrait. Not because he was a fan of Gainsborough. He wasn’t. He thought the paintings were murky and lacked in detail, but her portrait wasn’t. Irina’s ice-blue gaze looked out as clearly as if she were standing there. In the painting, she leaned against a pedestal with a parasol in one hand while other hand fingered a ribbon on her dress bodice. Eamon stood up and walked over to the painting. He reached up to her hand, wishing he could touch her again. All he felt was the rough, cold canvas.

  Eamon regretted not being able to go back to New York to take care of her in her final death, but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with the pain of it. Despite what Lauryl thought, he felt Irina’s death to his core and still mourned her. Even now, as he stared at the portrait, her death felt as though it had just happened. The sadness was less intense most days with Marta and Amelie but he still felt the emptiness of her loss. With the problems of Lauryl, he had been unable to search for Irina’s killer. Although he doubted that he would ever find them. He didn’t know any of Irina’s friends because he pompously refused to get to know any of them. One day, he would find the foolish human who destroyed his offspring. He owed her that much.

  He stepped back from the portrait and glared at the Degas. As far as he was concerned, Lauryl made her choice when she left. She was a hard lesson learned. He sat back down at his desk and a picture of Lauryl drew his attention. He snatched it up and frowned. It was her headshot, the one he had seen in the program in Seattle.