Of course, he’d catch Bull Thatcher, and then…heh, heh, heh!
Tommy caught the smell of oranges and cloves in the breeze. It was the deceptively fruity smell which had lured thousands of prehistoric saber-toothed tigers, giant ground sloths, and mastodons into the clinging trap of the LaBrea Tar Pits, over in the green, tree-studded expanse of Hancock Park. Tommy liked to roam around over there on Saturdays when his dad was working at the Achilles Electronics plant in Pasadena and his mom was out making telephone calls for whatever volunteer group she’d hooked up with this month. Last month it had been the Society to Aid Cambodian Orphans. Now it was the Save the African Elephant bunch. While his mother crusaded, Tommy would sit beneath a tree in the park and watch the roller skaters or read H.P. Lovecraft. He was accustomed to being alone.
He turned onto Lindenhurst Avenue, across from the park, and walked along a street lined with Spanish stucco houses that seemed to stretch on out of sight, hundreds of houses that looked similar except for the different colors of paint and different cars in the driveways. But, Tommy had noticed, there was even a pattern to the cars. Most of them were imports or economy cars, including his dad’s Pacer and his mother’s Toyota Celica. There were a few Porsches and Mercedes Benzes sitting around, too, but most of these were inconspicuously driven and usually covered over with protective canvas. It was a firmly middle-class neighborhood, complete with Boy Scout troop meetings and backyard barbecues on weekend evenings. It was quite similar to the neighborhood Tommy and his parents had lived in when his dad was working at the Achilles plant in Scottsdale, Arizona; and about the same as the one in San Antonio, Texas; and almost identical to the old neighborhood in Denver, Colorado. Actually they’d lived in a small town just outside Denver, and that place had been Tommy’s favorite—streets lined with elm trees and white picket fences, chimney smoke stirring in a crisp, northerly breeze, people wearing sweaters and raking leaves into orderly piles. That had been a really neat place. California was different. Everybody was wacky, everybody had ulterior motives. It wasn’t the moving that bothered Tommy so much because he knew his father was being promoted gradually through the Achilles corporation. It was changing schools so much and leaving behind whatever few friends he’d managed to make. In his experience real friends were few and far between. But there was one definite advantage to L.A., though. So many monster flicks were shown on the tube! Almost every weekend on Creature Features or Horror Hotel, he got to see an Orlon Kronsteen, Vincent Price, or—very rarely—a Todd Slaughter flick. At the end of the summer, he’d helped his dad attach a gizmo to the TV antenna that pulled in a couple of Mexican stations, and down there they really made creepy horror movies. So all in all, it wasn’t too bad.
His heart suddenly gave a kick. A silver Vega was parked in the driveway of the house across the street from his. Her silver Vega. Her name was Sandy Vernon, the daughter of Pete and Dianne Vernon, and she was a sophomore at UCLA. Tommy had fallen in love with her while watching her mow the lawn on a Sunday afternoon, clad in tight, denim cutoffs and a dark blue halter. She was tanned and blond and…stacked! She made Melinda Kennimer, Farrah Fawcett, Bo Derek and Raquel Welch look like Selma Verone. He’d melted into a little puddle, like the goo that comes out of a chocolate-covered cherry when he’d seen the tight muscles of her thighs and buttocks as she shoved a sputtering, red Toro mower back and forth across the lawn. He would have offered to help but then he would’ve been deprived of watching that heavenly body. So he’d sat on the front steps, leafing through an Eerie magazine and not making a bit of sense out of the stories.
And when she’d finished, she’d cut the mower and then turned toward him, that mane of blond hair flowing like hair does in shampoo commercials. Even from across the street Tommy had seen that her eyes were a bluish violet “Hi there,” she’d said and smiled.
“That’s a pretty neat lawnmower you’ve got there,” was the only thing he could manage to say.
She’d smiled wider as if she could read the thoughts—STUPID! ASSHOLE! STUPID! ASSHOLE!—that were battering against the walls of Tommy’s brain. “Thanks.’ It’s my dad’s. What they need to invent is one that does all the work by itself.”
“Uh…yeah. I think somebody’s come up with a robot mower. It runs along a wire you put down in the grass. My name’s Tommy Chandler.”
“I’m Sandy Vernon. Your folks just moved in?”
“Since July.”
“That’s nice. What grade are you in?”
“Uh…I’ll be a freshman at Fairfax High. In September. You sure did a good job on that lawn.” STUPID! ASSHOLE! STUPID!
“Thanks. I’ll be seeing you, Tommy.” And she’d pushed the mower away, her cute little behind moving as if on ball bearings.
Tommy’s body, in the bewildering throes of change, was never quite the same after that Sunday afternoon meeting. Once he woke up in the middle of the night, looked down at his pajama bottoms, and almost passed out thinking he had some hideous kind of VD. But that was impossible since he’d never had the opportunity to dabble in the mysteries of the opposite sex, and he decided that it was one more of nature’s tricks to make sure he was ready for manhood.
Now as he stood in front of his house and looked across Lindenhurst at the silver Vega that meant she was home, he saw a collie sitting on the steps in front of the Vernon’s door. Whose dog is that? he wondered. Maybe the Vernons bought it in the last couple of days? It was a large, beautiful dog, and right now it seemed to be sleeping. Tommy strolled out into the street and said, “Hi, boy! Hi there, fella!”
The dog didn’t move.
What’s wrong with it? he wondered. Is it sick? He crossed the street and stood on the sidewalk. “Hi, fella!” He clapped one hand against his leg, but the collie didn’t react. When Tommy placed one foot on the Vernons’ lawn, the dog’s head came up, the eyes staring blankly at him. “Hi, boy!” Tommy said. “Whose dog are you, huh? Are you Sandy’s dog?” Dogs have all the luck! he thought. He took another step closer, and the collie bared its teeth, growling very softly.
Tommy froze. The collie slowly rose to its feet but didn’t move from in front of the door. A drop of saliva fell from its lower lip and spattered onto the walkway. Tommy backed away, very carefully, and the collie immediately curled up again. On the other side of the street, Tommy stopped and stared across, knowing that Bull Thatcher was going to growl like that when he stepped into that locker room again tomorrow afternoon. It was either that or carry all his books around all day. He wondered if a kid could buy a can of Mace. Funny the way that dog acted, he thought. I always heard that collies were friendly. Well, after all, I guess I was invading his territory or something.
And then he remembered that “The Invaders” was on television in fifteen minutes, so he dug the key out of his pocket and hurried inside so he wouldn’t miss the first part where the saucer comes down.
FOURTEEN
Darkness. Twenty minutes before eight o’clock.
Paige LaSanda cursed as her pale blue Mercedes crashed over yet another pot-hole on serpentine Blackwood Road. God! she thought. Why did I ever tell that Falco character I’d come up this mountain in practically the middle of the night? Why didn’t I make him send a car to pick me up and take me back home! If that Prince whatever-his-name-is can afford to rent that castle, then by God he could afford to send a limo to pick me up! She could hear the wind whining through the dead trees out there, so she turned on her radio and searched for music. She came across the tail end of a newscast from KMET. “…registered 3.4 on the open-ended Richter scale, but San Diego residents did suffer some broken windows in a series of aftershocks…” Another earthquake, she thought. Christ! If it’s not forest fires or mudslides, it’s earthquakes! She turned the dial and found a song she liked, the new Rory Black single. “…I’m not the kind of guy who gets a second chance with pretty girls like you;/I’m not the kind of guy who gets a second glance from pretty girls like you…”
She was wondering what th
is Prince what’s-his-name would look like when she realized that there was something out there in the dark, running alongside her car.
A couple of dogs, caught in the backwash of the headlights, were running on either side like royal escorts.
She shivered, wondering what dogs were doing way up here, and accelerated to leave them behind. In another few minutes she turned a corner, and there was the massive hulk of the Kronsteen castle. There were candles in some of the windows, shining with different colors. She had to admit that if the place was not quite attractive, then at least it was mysteriously appealing.
She drove through the open gate, parked her car in the driveway, and walked up the stone stairs to the front door. She was wearing a sleek, black dress and a silver necklace with diamond stars clustered around a gleaming half-moon, and she knew she looked stunning. She was going to knock the prince’s socks—or whatever they called them in Hungary—off tonight. She knocked on the front door and waited.
It opened almost immediately, and standing there was a young Chicano girl in a long, white gown.
“Hi,” Paige said. “I’m Miss LaSanda, and Prince Vulkan expects me.”
The girl nodded and motioned for her to enter.
She stepped across the threshold. The door was closed behind her. She followed the servant girl—her makeup is atrocious, Paige thought—under a chandelier studded with gleaming candles. Paige glanced up at it, realizing that it was where the cops had found Orlon Kronsteen’s headless body. It was as cold as a refrigerator inside the place, and above her head Paige could hear the whine and moan of conflicting winds across the high ceilings. They moved down a long hallway lit by more candles, then up a curved, stone stairway that had no banister. On the second floor the servant girl motioned Paige through a rough-hewn door into a huge room with two roaring fireplaces on either side of a highly polished, gleaming black dining table. More candles guttered from a chandelier overhead and the two silver candelabra set equidistantly on the table. There was only one place setting, at the head of the table, with a silver dish and gleaming silverware. A crystal decanter half-filled with red wine and a single goblet were set beside the dish, both catching golden light from the fireplaces. “Where’s Prince Vulkan?” Paige asked the servant girl as she sat down.
The girl poured a glass of wine for Paige but didn’t answer. Then, without a word, she moved like a wraith to the door and vanished.
What’s this guy going to do? Paige wondered. Make a grand entrance or something? She sipped the wine and asked herself what the hell she was doing there; then she looked up, startled. She thought she’d seen a face way down at the other side of the room, floating in the shadows that had gathered at the limits of the firelight. Now it was gone, but she was left with the distinct impression of white flesh, white hair, and…red eyes. Now there was nothing there at all. She looked away quickly and thought she heard footsteps echoing off stone in the distance, not walking but…scurrying. Voices seemed to be whispering all around her, and she was almost certain she heard a cold chuckle.
Maybe, she thought, just maybe I ought to call this whole thing off. Maybe I ought to get my little ass out of here right now because there’s something definitely screwy about this whole thing.
She drank down another swallow of the wine and started to rise from her chair.
And that was when the hand came down very gently on her shoulder.
Paige gasped and turned her head. She was staring into a pair of green cat eyes set in a pallid, high-cheekboned face.
“Miss LaSanda,” he said and slightly bowed his head. “I’m Prince Vulkan.”
“Prince…Vulkan?” she said in a whisper.
“That’s right. I’m sorry you had to wait. There were some things I had to take care of before I could come.” He walked around from behind her and stood beside the table, staring down at her with a piercing, intense gaze.
“You? You’re the prince?” She almost laughed, but the shock was too great. All her Omar Sharif fantasies were shredded like so much rotten tapestry. She looked at him wide-eyed, thinking that his flesh might well have been sculpted from white marble. “You’re…you’re just a boy!” she finally managed to say.
He smiled slightly, his eyes sparkling with firelight. “Am I?”
“I was expecting someone older…in his forties at least!”
“Were you?” He nodded. “Forty years old? I’m sorry I disappoint you.”
Paige saw the yellow streaks in his hair and stared at them. What sort of kid was this anyway? His face looked like a seventeen-year-old’s, but there was something in his voice, his manner, his eyes that seemed much, much older. “Is Mr. Falco your guardian?” she asked.
“Falco is…was…in my employ. I saw fit to terminate his services last night.”
“Oh. But what about your parents? Surely you didn’t come all the way from Hungary without somebody!”
“I’m not a child, Miss LaSanda,” he said, his lower lip curling. “I’m not! I can take care of myself!”
“Well, sure. I just thought, you know…”
Vulkan leaned over the table toward her, and she found herself inwardly cringing. “You’re disappointed,’ aren’t you? You wanted me to be older. You wanted me to be handsome and wealthy, didn’t you?”
“No, not at all. I’m just…surprised.” She tore her gaze away from his with an effort that made her neck muscles thrum like bad guitar chords. She was afraid to look at him again, but when she looked into his eyes, she felt there was a cauldron bubbling at the center of her brain. “Listen, Your Royalty or Your Highness or whatever, I think this has all been a big mistake. I really shouldn’t be here. It’s late, and I have some work to do at home, so…” She started to rise.
“You’ll stay where you are,” he whispered.
Instantly her back was rigid against the chair, her hands gripped tightly around the arms of her chair. She felt as if a seat belt had suddenly been drawn tight around her stomach. She gasped for breath.
“There,” he said. “I don’t want to hear anything else about your leaving. I’ve got too much on my mind tonight to worry about you, Miss LaSanda, so please sit quite still. I’ve been planning to entertain you for some time, and I don’t want you spoiling the evening. Drink your wine.”
She shook her head and gasped, “No…”
“Drink it,” he said, his eyes boring through her skull.
Her hand went out, obediently grasped the crystal goblet, and tilted it to her lips, then returned the glass to the table. Her eyes were shining with fear, and a pulse ticked at her right temple. The prince picked up the glass, swirled the wine dregs around for a silent moment, then sniffed it and slid it back to her. He smiled. “You’re a very attractive woman, Miss LaSanda Very attractive indeed. I’m sure you have many suitors. Don’t you?” When she didn’t reply, he leaned forward and touched her throbbing pulse with a cold finger. Then he brought the finger back and passed it under his nose a couple of times. “Very attractive,” he whispered.
“Please,” she said, her jaw muscles aching with the effort, “let me go home. I don’t…I don’t care who you are. Just…let me…go…”
“That would spoil everything. You want to stay here with me. Don’t you?” His eyes widened slightly.
Her head nodded involuntarily, like a marionette’s.
“Good.” He regarded her for a moment in silence, then walked across the room to one of the fireplaces where he made a gesture of warming his hands. “I’m cold,” he said softly. “I’ve been cold now for several nights, and I can’t stand it any longer. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? When you’re cold, you simply turn up the heat. You don’t know pain, Miss LaSanda, that pain that roars through the body like a blizzard.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m glad you’re here tonight. I needed somebody to be with me, to talk to. Sometimes I get lonely for people…”
The woman’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Two tears trickled down her cheeks, leav
ing twin mascara trails.
Vulkan stared into the fire. “It was only a matter of time before you found out. My checks are worthless. My bank account in Switzerland has been closed for a long time. I didn’t know how much you knew about me. So it was much simpler, you see, to bring you here. To me.”
“I don’t…I don’t know…anything…about you…” she whispered.
“Ah, but there are things you might have found out.” He turned back to her, rubbing his palms together. “You might have called the police. You might have hurt me before it had even started.”
“Started? What…?”
“Everything!” he exclaimed, making a sweeping gesture with his arms. “The future!”
Paige heard the door open. Vulkan glanced up. “Here’s your meal,” he said. “It’s a true Hungarian beef gyulash. I had it made just for you.” A girl in a white gown brought in a silver bowl brimming with a thick-looking broth in which bits of potatoes, beef, and carrots floated. She set it down in the plate before Paige and left the room. Paige stared at it but didn’t move. “I want you to eat it,” Vulkan said quietly.
Paige’s arms were still pinned to the chair, and tears were dripping from the point of her chin. “Eat your meal,” Vulkan said as if he were speaking to a small child. Her right hand whipped out, grasped a large spoon, dipped it into the bowl and brought it to her lips. Her mouth jerked open. The spoon returned to the bowl. Then again. “Swallow it or you’ll choke,” he warned her. “That’s a good girl.” He stood over her and watched. “There are so many things I want to know about this land called California,” he said eagerly. “You can help me. You can tell me everything. Like…who are these?” He touched the T-shirt he wore, printed with a picture of the Beach Boys. “Are they religious figures, like the movie stars? I have to know about the music I’ve heard playing. What instruments are those? Lutes? Harps? The world changes so fast. The years pass like days to me, the days-like minutes. It becomes more crowded and complex. Every time I leave my refuge, I find myself in a different world…” He squinted suddenly, hearing something (MASTER!!) but he tried to force it away. Waves of need crashed through him as he stood in the hot presence of Paige LaSanda. But there it was again (MASTER HELP ME!), urgent and compelling. He touched his forehead, eyes rolling back, and tried to focus on where that thought had come from. And then…
They Thirst Page 31