Realm of Shadows (Vampire Alliance)

by Heather Graham

  “We’ve been there,” Jade said. “And the basement is caved in.”

  Tara looked at her.

  “I looked it all up on the Internet. Found the owners, the date when it was condemned, and the original blueprints.”

  “Oh,” Tara said. “How logical.” She looked back at the map. “Here ... this ... if I remember correctly, this is the old Dupré House. We couldn’t even reach the house itself on the horse, the area in front is so overgrown.” She fell silent, closing her eyes, as a rush of ice seemed to envelop her.

  The Dupré House!

  Suddenly, childhood memories combined with the haunting images of her dreams. The shadow wings had thrown her off ... she had only ever gone there in daylight as a child. They’d never been allowed to stay out with the horse in the countryside when it was close to dusk.

  She started to open her mouth, to explain the past, and her dream, but she never got a chance. From outside, with the suddenness of a bomb explosion, noises began to rattle the night. Eleanora began to howl as if she were a wolf pack in herself, baying, barking, letting out a cry to the moon once again.

  And it sounded as if the stables had imploded; old Daniel was kicking at his wooden stall.

  “What in God’s name . . . ?” Tara whispered.

  Katia came bursting into the library, wringing her hands. “I have told him no! I have told him no, but he ignored me! Roland grabbed the gun and went running out. And it’s out there, I know it’s out there ... I saw it! What do we do, Jacques, what do we do? Roland has gone out.”

  Tara rushed to Katia. “Katia, calm down, please—what did you see?”

  Even as she spoke, Tara saw something ...

  Something she couldn’t describe. It was as if the room darkened. Lamplight flickered, and grew dimmer.

  As if great shadow wings were sweeping over the house ...

  “Katia, please, what did you see?”

  Katia drew away from her.

  “Evil! I saw evil!” Then the housekeeper clutched her shoulders. “Evil, Tara, and you must feel it ... I can feel it ... it is as if it has entered the house!”

  As she spoke, the lamplight fickered.

  In the hearth, the flames suddenly rose high ...

  And then died.

  At the same time, the flickering electricity gave a last faint glow ... and then went dead as well.

  They were cast into darkness.

  Just as the stygian night fell upon them, an ear-shattering scream sounded from the courtyard beyond the door.

  And the dog began to howl and bay again ...

  Until that sound, too, was suddenly silenced.

  CHAPTER 18

  Brent sat quietly in the back of the police car, keeping still, offering no resistance. When they arrived at the village station, he followed along as he was told. He wasn’t directed to take the chair in front of Javet’s desk as he had previously done. He was led to a room with a table and chairs, no windows, and just one door. He was aware that the side with the one-way glass led to another chamber, where other officers could watch his movements and hear his words.

  He was left there alone for a moment. Then Javet came in and sat across from him. “Coffee, cigarettes?” He asked.

  “Sure,” Brent said.

  Javet pushed a pack of his own brand across the table. He motioned for one of his officers to go out. The man returned with coffee. Javet still stared at him.

  At last he spoke.

  “All right. Tell me what happened. Start with the night in the crypt. Or before, if you wish. But, perhaps it will be easiest if you begin with the murder of Jean-Luc. You had to have had an accomplice. That’s the only way you could have gotten rid of the contents of the coffin that was excavated.”

  “The contents of the coffin excavated themselves—and killed Jean-Luc,” he said.

  Javet paused in the lighting of his cigarette, looking over at him. “The contents of the coffin ... the corpse, after hundreds of years, rose and killed your coworker?” Javet said with disgust.

  “Yes.”

  “You admitted to the murder. You are here to confess.”

  “I’m telling you what I know.”

  Javet rose, swearing, knocking his chair over as he did so. “That is bull!” The man was furious. Every vein in his neck stood out, and Brent was well aware that the police officer was doing everything in his power not to jump over the table and throw his fists against him.

  But he was a good police officer; he found the restraint. Hands balled into fists, he turned away.

  He spoke at last. “For tonight, we will leave Mr. Malone in his cell, and give him time to think about his answers. If he can’t find more information than such ridiculous lies to give me, I will have to bring in the old man.”

  His back straight, he walked out of the interrogation room. A minute later, one of his officers took Brent’s cigarette and coffee, and indicated he should rise.

  That night, he was the only prisoner at the small station. His cell was spare, but clean and neat. Once he was inside, the door was locked. The officers left him.

  He sat on the bunk for a minute, waited, leaned his head back, and hoped that Javet had left for the night.

  He couldn’t stay. He hadn’t Lucian’s powers, but even he was suddenly afraid that they were running out of time.

  He lit one of his own cigarettes, smoked it, crushed it out.

  Then closed his eyes.

  A moment later, a terrible sound erupted from the cell. In the anteroom, two of the skeleton night crew in the station, standing at the desk, stared at one another. Officers Deauville and d’Artoine were both young, new to the force, thus drawing the late night hours.

  They drew their weapons, and went rushing into the hall where the four small cells were situated.

  “He’s gone!” Deauville said.

  “No ... no, there’s something in there,” d’Artoine said.

  “Where?”

  “At the end of the cot.”

  Deauville unlocked the door to the cell. Both men walked in cautiously, their weapons aimed. Deauville stared where d’Artoine had directed. He saw nothing but ...

  Eyes. Gold. Glittering. Lethal. Like the eyes of a ... demon.

  He swallowed hard, wetting his lips.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “A ... dog?” d’Artoine said hesitantly.

  “That’s no dog.”

  “It’s an animal.”

  “Where’s the prisoner?”

  “Escaped?”

  “What do we do?”

  “Shoot it?”

  As they debated, the creature in question suddenly sprang to life. All d’Artoine knew before the thing landed on him, knocking his weapon to the floor, was that it was huge and powerful. He screamed, certain that he was about to be killed.

  The weight lifted from him. He was aware of noise. It was Deauville, at his side, still screaming.

  He hit Deauville. “It’s out!”

  They both leaped to their feet, rushing to the front of the station. Other officers were milling there, looking around anxiously.

  “What is it?” someone called.

  “A beast!” d’Artoine said, and realized how ridiculous he sounded. “I don’t know, some kind of an animal.”

  The door to the street suddenly opened. The men all straightened as the man from Paris walked in. Trusseau. He looked around at them, contempt in his eyes. But then, he always seemed to have contempt in his eyes. He was from Paris. They were just villagers. Inept.

  “What is going on here?” he asked.

  Deauville had accompanied Javet and his arrest warrant to the DeVant chateau. And he narrowed his eyes suddenly, remembering that the American granddaughter had been saying that Trusseau was an imposter.

  And now, he wondered. It wasn’t impossible, even if the girl had been saying anything to save her grandfather, and her lover.

  Of course, it was the American digger, the woman’s lover, who was now g
one, and who had somehow left some kind of a beast in his stead.

  Still . . .

  “We are looking for a creature, some kind of beast, which has gotten loose in the station,” he said to Trusseau.

  “Ah,” Trusseau said. “A beast.”

  “Yes. It is here, somewhere. You must take care.”

  “Oh, I will,” Trusseau said.

  “Do you need a weapon, Inspector Trusseau—that is your name, sir, correct?”

  “Is it my name?” The man seemed amused, but he didn’t reply to the question. Instead, he said, “I carry my own weapon. Where is this beast?”

  “Here ... somewhere.”

  Whether he was an imposter or not, Trusseau seemed willing to look for the beast. He drew his weapon, a gleaming silver pistol of a make with which Deauville was not familiar, and backed against the wall.

  There was silence as they barely breathed, and waited.

  There was a clanking sound from the far wall. They all spun around. Two men fired. Chunks of concrete and stone spewed from the wall.

  Then there was a sudden burst of ... something.

  Something huge, moving with the speed of light. It leaped over and past them, charging straight for the station door. They were all taken by such surprise that instead of firing too quickly as they had before, they fired too late.

  All except for Trusseau. His gun went off.

  The door, however, had gone down.

  The creature was off in the street ...

  Leaving a trail of blood.

  Trusseau smiled at them. “Don’t worry. I’ll hunt down your beast.”

  Deauville decided to take it upon himself to discover the truth. He kept seeing the American girl. Tall and slim, so beautiful, and so indignant and well spoken, even as she argued so passionately for her grandfather.

  Something wasn’t right.

  “I don’t think so, sir. I think we can catch the beast on our own. You’ve been accused of being an imposter, sir. I’d like you to remain here while we give a call to the Paris office.”

  Trusseau lifted a brow. He smiled.

  Then he lifted his weapon, and aimed at Deauville.

  “Sir, what the hell—?” d’Artoine began.

  Trusseau’s bullet exploded in the night.

  Tara fumbled at the fireplace, finding the long matches that lit the logs. As she did so, Jade DeVeau produced a flashlight.

  “Roland!” Katia said in a wail.

  “Don’t worry; I’m going for him,” Tara said.

  “I’ve more experience,” Jade said. “I’m going out. You’re too valuable here right now, Tara. I’ll find Roland.”

  “And Eleanora,” Tara said softly. “But you can’t go out there alone.”

  They all jumped as a rich masculine voice with a deep Southern accent suddenly interrupted them. Rick Beaudreaux made his way into the room. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m going out. But Tara, get up there with Ann right away. And Jade, you stay here with Jacques and Katia.”

  Both Tara and Jade were ready to argue.

  “You know I’m the best one for the job!” Rick said.

  “I’m going up to Ann right now,” Tara told her grandfather. She cast Rick a glance, then went racing up the stairs. She tripped, trying to go too fast in the darkness. She had to catch herself on the stairs.

  She stopped at the hall closet, feeling her way to open it, and finding the large battery-powered lantern they kept there for emergencies.

  Her hands curled around it. She quickly turned on the light and headed for Ann’s room. The door to the hallway was closed. She reached for it, then felt a sense of dread filling her. She paused, then threw it open.

  She didn’t need the lantern in Ann’s room.

  The balcony doors and drapes were open. Moonlight was pouring in.

  The drapes drifted in a ghostly field of moonlight. The air that rushed in was cold.

  The bed where Ann had lain was empty.

  She walked to it disbelieving. “Ann!” she cried softly, looking to the balcony. But her cousin was gone.

  Just barely gone.

  There was a note on the bed. Next to several drops of blood.

  It read:

  She has perhaps ten minutes to live. Unless she is saved, of course.

  By the new Alliance.

  Such sweet blood. Perhaps I cannot wait so long.

  He limped, cursing himself, gritting his teeth, praying for the strength he needed—just for that night.

  Well, at last he had seen him again. And while he hadn’t known that Andreson had been behind the evil in the village, Andreson had definitely known that he was there. He had come prepared with the right weapon.

  The only weapon ...

  He slunk into a side street. After his escape, it seemed that all hell had broken loose at the police station. Officers were running all over the street. The only thing he could do was find the darkest alley, and pray that he could stanch his own wound.

  But as he sat against the wall, listening to the shouts and pounding footsteps all around him, he became aware of the shadows overtaking even the darkness. For a moment, he tensed. If Andreson were to find him now ...

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  Lucian was there, kneeling beside him.

  “Andreson is here, and damned bold at that,” Brent said dryly. “Walked right into the police station—and took a shot at me.”

  “I thought you’d done something yourself to rile them all up,” Lucian said. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  “Well, hell, he got me with a silver bullet.”

  “You’re slowing down, my friend.”

  “Just get the damned thing out,” Brent said.

  Lucian pulled a knife from his jacket pocket, flicked it open, and dug in. Brent gritted his teeth, nearly crying out at the pain.

  “Got it,” Lucian said.

  “None too gently.”

  “You needed it out, right?”

  “I did.”

  Lucian sat back on his haunches. “He isn’t around here anymore,” he said softly.

  Brent struggled to his feet. “We’ve got to get back to the chateau.”

  “You’re going to be about worthless.”

  “No ... and anyway, about worthless isn’t totally worthless.”

  “Still . . .”

  “You said that he isn’t around here anymore. The chateau ... well, Rick is there, I know, but Andreson knows a hell of a lot more tricks than a young fellow like your Southern friend. We’ve got to get back.”

  “Yeah, take my hand.”

  Brent struggled to his feet. He swallowed hard. “Go—ahead of me. I’ll catch up. I don’t want them there alone.”

  Lucian didn’t argue with him.

  “What the hell is it? You know there’s something wrong there, right?”

  “I’ve a sudden sense of darkness. I know the man as someone other than Andreson, but if he was here . . .”

  “Then she might have been at the house,” Brent said. “Go!”

  Lucian was already on his way.

  Brent paused, bitterly resenting every moment it took to summon his strength. At last, he closed his eyes, and found the power to move. He went silently through the village streets, avoiding the prowling officers. At length, he came to the outskirts beyond the square, started out along the road, and felt the light of the moon upon him.

  He began to run.

  Tara shot back down the stairs, not pausing to find the others in the library, but bursting outside the front door, shrieking her cousin’s name.

  There was no answer. The driveway was locked in shadow; clouds covered the moon. She called and shouted. There was no sign of Rick, Roland, the dog, or anyone.

  She raced back into the house, bursting into the library. Jade stood guard, literally, straight and tall, posed behind her grandfather’s desk chair.

  She paused for a deep breath, wet her lips, and told Jacques, “They’ve got Ann.”

>   She was so sorry. His entire face went gray, and seemed to sink within. He might have been a skeleton with leftover flesh, watching her.

  “Lucian will be back; Brent will be back.”

  She shook her head. “We can’t wait. I’m going.”

  “Tara, no!”

  “They’re going to kill her if I don’t go.”

  “You’re not going alone,” Jacques said.

  “Grandpapa! You can’t come with me. Then I’d have to worry about your life as well as my own.”

  Jade was shaking her head. “You know nothing yet, Tara. You know nothing at all. You haven’t the experience—”

  “Then you’d better give me a quick lesson.”

  “I’m coming with you—”

  “You can’t. God knows where Rick is, or what happened with Roland, and I’m still certain that Jacques is in terrible danger. And now . . . now that we’ve come to this, I’m not afraid.” It was the most preposterous lie she had ever told in her life, but she could see no other way to get her cousin back. “Look, supposedly I’m genetically primed to do this, to go after these people. So if you want to help me, tell me quickly what I need to know. Jacques—I drew a picture upstairs. It turned out to be a man Ann had been dating, as well as the man who claimed to be from the Paris police, as well as someone Brent seemed to know from somewhere else. If you can—”

  She had thought that her grandfather looked half-dead before. Now, he was the color of pure ash. “Andreson!” he breathed.

  “Andreson ... who is Andreson?” she asked.

  “A true monster. He was head of the medical experiments when I was in the prison camp during the war. He ran the place. Naturally, of course, I knew later. He was constantly glutted, there was a chance for such rich carnage during the war! No crueler commandant ever existed, no one, not even among a field of monsters, was so heinous. But at the end ... his cruelty brought about his death. Or so I had thought.”

  “The war ... Jacques, how does Brent know about this man, then?”

  Her grandfather looked at her.

  “Brent Malone was Andreson’s favorite experiment, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than trying to solve the riddle of his survival, and what he had become.”