Trish’s eyes are wide with alarm. She listens to Mrs. Gerard, responds in French, and listens some more.
I don’t catch all the French, but I know she told Mrs. Gerard about the message she got on her cell. The rest is clear when Trish slowly lowers the phone and meets our eyes.
“Cecily’s missing,” she whispers.
Chapter Five
Trish sits between us on the couch. “Mrs. Gerard said she let Cecily off at a corner bakery near the school. So she could get a croissant—she’d missed school lunch. She was supposed to eat, then go to class.”
Trish’s voice trembles as she continues, “Mrs. Gerard got a text message from Cecily at two, saying she was coming home with me to study lines for the play. She was supposed to call her mother to come pick her up when we were finished.”
A wave of nausea hits me like a gut punch. Whatever happened, it had been carefully orchestrated to make sure Cecily wouldn’t be missed until early evening. If this were any other kid in any other place, what happened might be viewed by the police as a simple case of a teenager running away.
But in this particular time and place, I’m afraid there’s little doubt that Cecily is another kidnapping victim.
“What else did she say, honey?” I ask gently.
Trish was trying hard not to cry. “That she was going to call the police. She’s afraid that Cecily—”
She can’t finish the sentence, her words strangling in her throat.
I’m close to tears, too. But mine are tears of anger. My first thought is that I know whom to call. This may not be the Marseilles thing that Vlad referred to at the cottage, but he’s going to help me find Trish’s friend. I’ll make sure of it. He has connections on both sides of the law.
I won’t let Trish lose anyone else.
Vlad agrees to come to the house in the morning. He doesn’t let on if the kidnappings had anything to do with his own concerns, and he doesn’t argue that it’s not vampire business, but says he’ll look into it for me.
By the time I’m off the phone with Vlad, the police are at our door. Dad leads them into the living room.
The officers who come to take Trish’s statement are both middle-aged males, paunchy, with faces marked by the weight of the tragedy they’ve come to investigate. They speak in French too fast for me to understand. Trish and Dad have no trouble, though, and I watch as they ping-pong back and forth—asking and answering questions. If I had any doubts before, the expressions on the officers’ faces confirm that they fear Cecily is the latest victim in the string of kidnappings.
As they talk, I remember what I read about the crimes. The parents all got ransom demands, paid them, but the girls were killed anyway. How much time transpired between the ransom calls and the discovery of the bodies? Three days, I think, before the bodies were found in Northern Marseilles.
The police finish their inquiry and Dad shows them out. “You look worn out,” he says to Trish. “Why don’t you go on up to bed? If we hear anything, we’ll wake you.”
She looks like she’s going to object. She also looks bone-weary. “Go on, Trish,” I add. “Even if you can’t sleep, just lie down.”
But she shakes her head. “I want to be right here if there’s any news.”
“Okay.” I take an afghan from the back of the couch. “Then at least wrap up and stretch out on the couch. How’s that?”
She takes the afghan from my hands. “Okay. But I won’t sleep.”
“Just rest.” I tuck her in, plumping a pillow beneath her head. “Dad and I will be in the kitchen if you need us.”
She nods wearily. Dad leans over to kiss her cheek. “We’re right here, sweetie-pie.”
He follows me into the kitchen. I pull the pocket door closed behind us before asking, “What did the police say?”
He crosses to the counter, busying himself with setting up the coffee maker. “Cecily’s disappearance fits the profile of the other abductions. All the girls were taken on their way to school. All had text messages sent from their cell phones to family and friends giving the kidnappers hours to spirit them away before anyone realized they were missing.”
He’s not looking at me while he speaks. When the coffee maker starts to perk, he reaches up to pull mugs from a cabinet. One of the mugs slips from his grasp. I catch it before it hits the floor.
Thank you, vampire reflexes.
But Dad is so upset, he doesn’t even comment on the fact that I just performed a superhuman feat. Calmly, I take the mugs from him. “We’ll keep Trish safe,” I say gently.
He finally meets my eyes. “I keep thinking it could have been Trish today.”
I lead him to the table and gently guide him into a chair. I know that’s not all he’s thinking. It’s only been three weeks since Mom died. I blow out a breath and ask, “Did they happen to say how they think Cecily was targeted?” I take the chair beside him.
He nods. “Yes. In fact, they thought the fact that she was on television last night got the kidnapper’s attention. The reporters not only told them what school she went to, but that she’d be arriving late today. It was a perfect setup.”
The coffee maker chimes. I pour two cups and bring them back to the table. “I have a friend coming tomorrow morning,” I tell Dad. “He came to our wedding so you might remember him. His name is Vlad and he has a lot of connections that could be useful. He’s going to help us find Cecily.”
“You think he can do anything the police can’t?”
I choose my words carefully. “He’s been around a long time. He knows Marseilles better than anyone. I trust him with my life. Even more, I’d trust him with Trish’s.”
Dad takes my hand. “I don’t think Trish could stand it if anything happened to her friend. Not so soon after—”
I don’t let him finish. I squeeze his hand. “We’ll find Cecily. We’ll get her back.”
He releases a breath. “We have to.”
We keep Trish home from school, as much for our sake as hers. She doesn’t argue. When Dad calls the school to let them know, he’s informed that as many as half the students are out. News of Cecily’s abduction made the front page of every newspaper.
Dad gave instructions to the work crew and sent them to the fields without him. He, Trish, and I have a silent breakfast. We are each wrapped up in our own thoughts.
At eight, we get a call from Mrs. Gerard. They were contacted by telephone and a ransom demand made. Trish puts the call on speaker so Dad and I can hear.
Mrs. Gerard’s voice is heavy with fatigue, but she methodically relates the facts in halting English. “The kidnappers used a burner phone,” she says, “And while the police were able to ascertain where the call was made from: an industrial area in Marseilles, it will take days or weeks to trace it back to a purchaser.” She pauses, draws a heavy breath, and continues. “The kidnappers are asking for two hundred-fifty thousand Euros to be dropped tomorrow morning at a location they’ll name then. We’re arranging for the money to be delivered to us this afternoon by courier.”
She switches to French to say a few more words to Trish before hanging up.
I look from Trish to Dad. We’re all thinking it—if they follow the same timetable as before, Cecily has two days to live.
Vlad is at the door at nine sharp.
Trish and Dad recognize him from the wedding at once. A man with his distinctive look isn’t easily forgotten. I can’t remember how I introduced him, I’m sure it wasn’t Vlad Dracul, former Prince of Wallachia. Or Vlad the Impaler. But I needn’t have worried. Dad is only concerned with one thing.
“Anna tells us you might be able to help find Trish’s friend.” He shakes Vlad’s hand. “If you do, we will be forever in your debt.”
Vlad gives me a surreptitious wink. Forever is a strong word to use with a vampire. To my dad he says, “I have put out feelers. I’m confident I will hear something this morning.” He looks over at Trish. “We will find your friend.”
Dad offers him a c
up of coffee, which he accepts. He asks Dad about grape prospects for the year, and they enter into a discussion of soil content and moisture levels. I can tell Dad is impressed with his knowledge of winemaking. I suppose it’s only one of hundreds of subjects Vlad is conversant in. After all, he’s been living in this area for centuries.
Trish and I leave them and walk out into the garden. She’s trying to be brave, but the stress of waiting shows on her face. I don’t try to distract her with empty slogans about positive thinking. It never worked for me.
We take seats around a big wooden table under a sprawling ancient oak. My mother used to call this our outdoor dining room. The tree hasn’t completely leafed out yet, but its promise of shelter from a hot summer sun is already evident.
Trish cups her hands around her coffee mug. “Do you think your friend can really find Cecily?”
Her tone is hesitant, hopeful.
“Yes.” My tone is confident, positive.
“Why?” She raises her eyes to meet mine. “What can he do that the police haven’t been able to?”
I wonder how I should answer that question. Trish knows nothing of vampires in general, let alone that her aunt is one. Or that Vlad is one of the oldest vampires in existence and, like Moriarty in the Sherlock Holmes tales, has a web of informants that span not only France, but also Europe and beyond.
“He’s not like the rest of us, is he?” she asks when it’s clear I’m floundering.
I release a breath. “How do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. He looks young—well, younger than Granddad, I mean. But his eyes. They’re old.” She shakes her head. “I’m not explaining it very well.”
Ah, but you are. A vampire’s eyes are indeed the windows of his soul, and reflected in Vlad’s are centuries of life. Centuries of making mistakes and trying to rectify them.
Finding Cecily safe will be another of those acts of restitution on Vlad’s part to help balance the scales.
Trish’s eyes are on me, I feel her gaze like a ray of warm sunlight. She’s waiting for me to say something. I take a deep breath.
“You’re right in some respects,” I begin. “Vlad is different in that he has steeped himself in history. He lives as much in the past as he does in the present. But he travels in different worlds—those of the just and unjust. If there is an organization behind these abductions, he’ll find it.”
“But he hasn’t before this.” Her tone is belligerent, accusatory. “Why didn’t he try to find the kidnappers when the first three girls were killed? He waits until he’s asked to get involved? He didn’t care about the others?”
She’s shuddering, angry color flooding her face.
I move around the table to console her—I can’t think of anything else to do—and run into Vlad as he joins us from the house. I was so absorbed with Trish’s pain that I didn’t sense his approach. His expression says he heard Trish, and there is sorrow in his eyes.
He stands beside her. “I should have gotten involved earlier,” he says. “I regret that. Your aunt said I live as much in the past as I do in the present. She’s right. I tend to cocoon myself away with my books and manuscripts. Sometimes months go by before I surface. If it wasn’t for your aunt, this deplorable situation might have gone on for God only knows how long and I would have known nothing about it. But I’m here now. And I just got a promising lead. Your aunt and I will pursue it and if all goes well, we will have your friend back with her family before the day’s end.”
Trish jumps to her feet. “I want to go with you.”
Vlad answers before I can. “No. You need to stay here with your grandfather. Where we are going is no place for—”
“For a what?” Trish snaps. “For a child? I am not a child.”
Vlad smiles. “No. You are not a child. And that is not what I was going to say. It will be dangerous. Your aunt is trained to deal with the kind of characters we will encounter. You are not. We promise, you will be the first to hear when we get Cecily to safety. Then you and your grandfather can be with her parents when we bring her back.”
“How can you be so sure you will find her?” Trish asks pointedly.
“You have to trust me.”
Dad strides down the path from the house. He has one of my jackets in one hand and my cell phone in the other. “Vlad said this would be all you need.” He hands me the phone and the jacket. “Are you ready to go?”
I shrug into the jacket, slip the phone into an inside pocket. We exchange a wordless hug, then I turn to Trish.
“We’ll call as soon as we have news.”
Trish puts both arms around me and squeezes. “Be safe, Aunt Anna,” she says. “Bring Cecily back, but be safe.”
I kiss the top of her head and gently extricate myself. Vlad nods to me, to my grandfather and Trish. “I’ll bring them both back,” he says.
We leave two of the people I love most in the world standing close together under that big oak.
Chapter Six
I’m surprised to see it isn’t Vlad’s Ducati waiting for us in the driveway. It’s a van.
A white, side-door, minivan.
It’s so unexpected, I stop and stare.
“You’re driving that?”
He stops, too, and raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. Only you’re about as far from the image of a soccer-mom as I am from a nun.”
I open the passenger side door and hoist myself in. The inside is clean but littered with toys. I pick up a stuffed bear and toss it into the back.
He takes his place behind the wheel. “What’s a soccer-mom?”
I roll my eyes. He starts the van and turns it around so we’re heading for the road. “Where are we going?”
“Ever heard of Niaux?”
“No. Where is it?”
“About three hours from here.”
I stare again. “We could run it in one.”
“We could,” he replies. “But how do you propose we bring Cecily back?”
“Good point.” I release a breath. “I hope you’re right about bringing Cecily back. I couldn’t bear to disappoint Trish.”
“We won’t.”
“And you’re so sure, why?”
We’re heading for the highway. “Because I know who’s behind the kidnappings and why they’re doing it.”
He’s making me pull information out of him in bits and pieces, and my patience finally runs out. “Look, Vlad—enough. Tell me where we’re going and who we’re dealing with.”
He grimaces. “It’s unpleasant,” he says. “So what would you like to know first? Where we’re going? Why the girls were kidnapped? Or who is behind the plot?”
I settle back in the seat. We’re in for a long drive. I ponder the question for a moment before replying, “How about who?”
He nods. “First, a little background. You’ve no doubt heard about the unrest in Marseilles. There is a growing faction in the government that wants to keep France for the French. They want to curtail immigration and drive foreigners back to their own countries. It’s becoming almost an obsession for some. And they’re winning the hearts and minds of a great many Frenchmen.”
I stir in my seat. “Sounds uncomfortably like something that happened here in Europe in the thirties.”
“It could head just that way. Cooler heads prevail for the present. But Marseilles is a huge city with a large immigrant population, widespread poverty, and one of the highest unemployment rates in the country. The police played up the fact that the kidnappers were immigrant gangs from les banlieue défavorisée. Even hinted that there might be a Muslim connection. And if the girls had been let go uninjured after the exchange of money, not much might have been made of it save a growing unrest toward foreigners. But such has not been the case.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
He turns serious dark eyes to me. “It is very disturbing. What my contacts tell me makes me fear for France. The word is that the local government
is behind what’s happening. That they orchestrated the kidnappings—or at least turned a blind eye to them—not foreseeing that the gangs they encouraged would kill their victims. They wanted to make it so uncomfortable for immigrants that they would leave Marseilles, and the unrest would spread from there to all of France.”
Disturbed doesn’t begin to describe the emotions welling up in me. “The government is behind what’s happening here?” My voice rises. “What kind of country is this?”
Vlad clucks his tongue and shoots me an ironic smile. “You think your own country is unsusceptible to thinking of this sort? Look at your history, Anna.”
I raise an eyebrow and irritably wave a hand for him to go on.
After a moment, he continues. “Nevertheless, it does get worse. My contact tells me that there are no immigrant gangs involved at all. That the police themselves are perpetrating these crimes. Not all of the police, of course, and the identities of the murderers are a closely guarded secret. But when the parents of the girls began paying the ransoms, and the policemen saw how much easy money was to be made… Well, they decided to change the game.”
“But why kill the girls?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around the idea that policemen were involved.
“Most likely because the girls could identify them,” he answers. “Or at the very least, confirm that their kidnappers were native Frenchmen.”
I let this sink in a moment. I know there are dirty cops. That’s not a surprise. But what is a surprise is that cops would go as far as to kill innocent young girls to protect their own identity. “Who came up with this brilliant scheme?” I ask, fighting a sudden urge to find those responsible and tear their throats out.
Vlad reads the emotion boiling in me. “I doubt we’ll get the chance to meet the leader,” he says. “I understand he’s on vacation somewhere in the Mediterranean. Distancing himself from the fallout now that the plan has gone so wrong.”
“So why are we headed for Niaux?”
“Niaux is located in the foothills of the Pyrenees. There is a cave there where prehistoric paintings have been discovered. It’s quite a popular tourist attraction. That’s where the kidnappers have been taking their victims.”
Anna and the Vampire Prince Page 3