“I thought you might like a coffee before your flight,” he said.
Since I literally couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever brought me anything, even when I asked, I only blinked at him at first.
I’d just opened a search browser to go back to my side project of the past few days, researching vampires. I hadn’t found anything super useful yet, but I’d been looking into a few cults of supposedly-human beings who believed they were vampires.
So my mind was pretty much elsewhere when I found myself staring at Gomey.
“It’s the kind you like,” he said, his voice holding just the barest trace of a sulk. “I think it is. One of the kinds, anyway. A mocha... no whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles on top.”
I blinked again. I think I’d only ever drank one mocha in my entire life.
But hell, maybe chocolate was a good idea right then.
Clearing my throat, I nodded, motioning towards the desk with the pen I held. “Thanks, Gomez. That’s very thoughtful of you. You can just leave it here.”
He put it down on the desk then just stood there, looking at me.
I stared back, waiting. When he didn’t say anything else, I motioned towards the scarf he wore around his neck.
“Is it cold out?” I asked politely.
He stared at me, a blank look on his face, then looked down at the scarf I’d indicated towards with my pen. The bright scarlet knit clashed pretty horribly with the orange tie and his plaid shirt.
“Oh. Yes,” he said, a little too brightly. “It’s nippy out. Be sure and wear a coat.”
“Okay.” I frowned slightly. “I’ll do that.”
His voice sounded strange. His use of the word “nippy” was strange, too, but not wholly unlike him, so I shrugged it off.
“Any word from Mr. Patterson?” I said.
Again, that blank stare. Then he shook his head, slower. “No.”
Suppressing my sigh when he continued to stand there, I nodded. “Well, thanks for the coffee, Gomey. I really appreciate it. I’m just going to finish a few things up here. If Mr. Patterson doesn’t show up by the end of his session time, you can go.”
Gomez nodded, looking almost comically relieved.
He left the room trailing that odd scarf, moving like a frightened rabbit.
Maybe I needed Black to come in here and threaten his life more often.
Adjusting the plastic lid on the coffee cup, I moved it closer to me as I went over a few more websites I’d found related to the “vampire underground.” I recognized the names of a few psychologists who’d weighed in on the subject and realized I’d met one of them at a conference on forensic psychology. After mulling it over, I wrote him an email, reminding him who I was and asking if he’d mind sending over his research notes.
When I hit send and looked at the clock, my patient had gone from being fifteen minutes late to thirty-two minutes late, and I was getting burnt out staring at screens.
I’d also forgotten about the coffee, which was probably getting cold.
Pulling it over to me, I took a cautious sip. It was so sweet I almost grimaced, but between the sugar rush and the caffeine, I took a longer drink. Then another.
Shutting down my laptop and shoving it in my bag, I grabbed my coat off the rack and jerked open the door leading out to the reception area, the mocha cup still in hand. Even though it was mostly cold and sickly sweet, I didn’t want to offend Gomey by throwing it in the trash more than half-full, or he’d never bring me one again.
I took a few more swallows on my way to the reception area, if only because the exhaustion was really hitting me now. I had it in my head I’d drop by the Northern Precinct, see if Nick or Angel were around, and maybe up for a less sugar-bombed version of caffeine before I got on the plane. Angel and Nick might want to come back here with me and see Black in the flesh anyway. As far as I knew, they’d barely seen him yet since he’d got back.
Turning right at the end of the short hall past my office door, I yawned, looked for Gomey behind the reception desk. I frowned when I saw it empty, and checked my watch.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Again?”
Not only had he left the desk abandoned, he’d turned out all the lights. The room was hazy and dim with pre-sunset sun, and all the blinds were closed.
I’d told him he could go at the end of the hour.
It was so like Gomey to interpret those words as “you can go right now.”
Checking my watch, I reached for my bag to find my phone, fumbling more clumsily than usual. I was still squinting into my bag, fighting a sudden rush of dizziness, when I walked past the reception desk and into the main waiting area.
I looked down at the floor and stopped.
Gomez was sprawled out on the carpet, eyes closed. A dark-clothed form, one who looked vaguely familiar to me, had his mouth attached to my administrative assistant’s shoulder. I could hear loud, wet sucking sounds coming from that mouth.
Something about the two bodies’ locked poses and that slurping sound was disturbingly obscene.
The utterly contented look on the other man’s face confused me, then made me blink, struggling to focus my eyes as I stared at them.
Next to them, lay another body.
I studied that face as well, then realized it was the client I’d been waiting for. My mind sought his name: Patterson. Clay Patterson. Familiar-looking crescent-shaped marks lived on both his exposed wrist and his neck. He was so pale, his skin looked like chalk.
I stared at the whole scene, swaying on my feet, fighting to take it in.
Then it hit me. Clay Patterson was dead.
And there was something seriously wrong with me. I should be running. I should have run from the room by now... out onto the street... but I found myself frozen in place.
The coffee. Gomez. The scarf.
The way Gomez just stood there, as if waiting for me to drink it.
But I couldn’t fully wrap my head around the import of any of those things.
My mind was moving far too slow to really join this party.
I was still struggling to focus, to think in straight lines, when I realized I was kneeling on the carpeted floor. The smell of chocolate was overpowering. I grimaced, looking at the coffee cup that had opened when it fell, spilling lukewarm chocolate all over the beige carpet. Then I was on my hands and knees, still staring at the men in front of me. I watched, squinting, fighting to focus my eyes, as the one in the black suit sucked happily on Gomey’s neck.
Breathing harder, I willed myself to get up. To move.
Crawl towards the door. Find the phone in my bag.
I only hung there, panting. It seemed to take every ounce of my concentration to keep my arms from collapsing under me.
After what seemed like an endless stretch of silence, the being in the black suit raised its head with a sigh. Blood dripped down the corners of its mouth and along its jaw. His glass-like eyes flashed, illuminating the scarlet tint around the pupil.
Seeing me, he smiled, resting his hands easily on Gomey’s chest, like it was a footstool.
“Well, good evening, dear heart.” A thick New Orleans accent colored his words, just like I remembered. “So sorry for my poor manners, Dr. Fox. I was just about to come fetch you, when I got... distracted. I confess, food can be such an all-consuming passion of mine. One might even call me a foodie, of sorts. If one of peculiar tastes.”
Pulling a black handkerchief from his breast pocket, he snapped it out of its fold. I watched, fighting to focus my eyes as he used it to wipe his hands, and then his lips and jaw.
“You ready to go, my beautiful Miriam?”
I blinked harder, struggling to focus. My mind whirled in the darkness, fighting to hold onto something, anything solid.
Black. I had to find Black...
My mind reached out, intending to scream for him.
But I couldn’t even do that.
My attempts to throw myself outward into that psychic space
dissipated around me like smoke. It was like being in a dream, one where you desperately need to scream, to cry for help, but all you can manage is a whispered breath. I fought again and again, trying to make some sound in that space, to throw up a flare, but nothing came out of me.
If Black felt me calling for him, nothing but silence greeted me in return.
I fought to control my mind, to gear up to try again, but the drug stole over me like a virus, pulling my mind into fragments, disconnecting pieces so they couldn’t communicate with one another. The harder I tried, the more the different elements turned into smoke, pulled apart by wind, by a too-strong breath.
The harder I tried, the worse it got.
When I opened my eyes next, I was lying on my back. The man in the black suit was standing over me, smiling. The barest hint of those fangs showed beneath his curved lips.
I recognized him. My mind fixated on that, tried to make sense of it.
It was the vampire who took Black.
It was the same goddamned vampire... and I was already too late.
4
Girl on a Plane
I OPENED MY eyes to a now-familiar view.
The underside of a luggage bin hung over me, creamy-white in color. No round air ducts or bright orange call buttons patterned this particular bin. The accent lights I saw were larger and a lot nicer than anything I’d ever seen on a commercial airplane.
My mind came back slowly... like it had to swim back through that same underwater cavern into which it fell.
I was lying on a couch, under a row of oval windows.
The view-shades on those windows were down, but I could tell from the sounds and the movement of the cabin that we were already in the air.
My mind flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Black in my office.
For a long-feeling few seconds, I felt nothing but relief, even as I grimaced, wondering if this was one of the countless couches Black had sex on with one of the probably-thousands of women he’d burned through before he’d met me.
Gritting my teeth at the thought, I looked down at the upholstery by my arms. A head-rush hit me when I lifted my head, slanting out my vision. The pain that rose to my temples came out of nowhere, shocking me. It forced me to stop, to rest my head back down on the couch’s cushion, even as my hand went to my forehead.
Then, before I’d even pulled my shoulders up off the couch, a voice made me freeze.
“Well, hello there, Mrs. Black. So happy to see you awake at last.”
My eyes darted towards the forward part of the plane.
I wasn’t high enough yet to see him.
I turned to my left instead, and saw a man I didn’t know handcuffed to a seat, his eyes closed. I blinked at him, trying to decide why he was there, but ended up looking at how they’d bound him, instead. Metal cuffs held him to special rings both at the wrists and at his ankles. Chains also held his wrists and ankles together. He had a red, half-moon bite mark on his neck, next to a tattoo of a sword.
He wasn’t asleep, my mind amended. He was unconscious.
His eyes were closed, and his head hung loosely on his neck, but his breathing was so shallow it didn’t look like a natural sleep.
I didn’t recognize him at all.
On the couch next to his chair sat a woman with wide, bright red eyes and a bow-shaped mouth. Long blond hair hung down her back and over her shoulders, yellow next to her shockingly pale skin and a perfect, doll-like face. She wore a dress that looked like an original from the Victorian era, indigo blue with black lace, complete with corset and bustle. The latter bunched up behind her where she sat on the leather couch.
She looked waif-thin in the dress, even with the skirts, and completely out of place in the modern cabin.
I’d never seen her before, either.
Between her appearance and how still she sat, I struggled to see her as real at all.
Feeling a harder knot form in my chest, I pulled myself the rest of the way up with an effort, using the back of the couch. Once I had, I faced Brick, who sat with his legs elegantly crossed in a leather airplane seat just forward of the couch where I sat. His chair, which was made of the same soft, cream-colored leather as the couch, looked more like a recliner in the upright position than a normal airplane seat.
Holding a flute of champagne in one hand, he smiled at me, his strange, glass-like eyes shimmering under the cabin lights.
I’d already noticed those eyes seemed to change color.
Like now––they appeared almost completely colorless, with only the faintest tinge of that blood-like red a heated blossom around his pupil. When I’d seen him kill another vampire right in front of me, his eyes had gone almost completely scarlet––a vibrant, glowing purple-red that glowed from the hollows of his skull.
Brick smiled, those clear eyes watching me with amusement.
His eyes now must be how vampire eyes looked when they were relaxed.
Straightening my spine, I leaned against the back of the leather couch, fighting to level my mind, to think.
I was already trying to reach Black with my psychic ability.
Some kind of wall or emptiness surrounded me however, and after a few more moments of that, I focused my stare back on Brick.
“What?” I said coldly. “No collar?”
Brick smiled, finishing a sip he’d been taking of the champagne. He lowered the flute casually to his thigh, smiling wider.
“Entirely unnecessary in this case, my dear. Your husband required such a crude means of psychic restraint, it is true... but that was mostly due to the specific parameters of the work I intended for him. And the environment of the prison in which I’d housed him, of course.”
He motioned politely towards a tray that held a second champagne flute, standing right next to an ice bucket holding the bottle.
“Do have a drink, won’t you?” He smiled that wolfish grin of his. “I promise this glass isn’t drugged. And it really is quite good.”
My jaw hardened as I listened to him talk.
I tried not to think about what Black was doing right then. Or how he would have reacted to my disappearance. He was probably losing his damned mind right now.
I know I would be, if it was me. Hell, I already had, when he was the one missing.
“Black,” I began, my voice cold. “Where is he? Why am I––”
Brick held up a hand, shushing me.
“Please, dear heart. Try not to concern yourself with your husband right now.” His wolfish grin grew more prominent. “...I did, after all, leave him a note.”
I stared at him, fighting to think, to determine what my options even were.
He seemed like the type to get off on emotional displays of whatever kind, good or bad. I strongly suspected it would only feed his ego more if I started yelling at him or threatening him at this point. He also clearly wanted me to know he’d deliberately left Black in a panic. Any emotion I showed about that would only please him.
Asking for an explanation definitely wouldn’t yield me one. It would just give him something more to use to toy with me.
In the end I remained silent, watching him.
“Interesting,” he said, his eyes growing more shrewd. “You are a bit of a different animal than your husband, aren’t you, Mrs. Black?”
I didn’t answer.
Either he’d tell me why he’d taken me... or he wouldn’t.
I strongly suspected he liked to talk enough that he’d probably share more if I gave him nothing to work with.
When he burst out in a laugh, I couldn’t help but flinch.
The smile on his lips was more open that time, almost affectionate. I knew he couldn’t read my mind, being a vampire, but he must have read something in my face.
He leaned forward, balancing his arms on his thighs, twirling the champagne flute between his fingers. That time, he studied my face openly.
“I was warned you were a clever one, Dr. Miriam Fox,” he said, his voice nearly
a murmur. “And not only by your husband.”
When I only looked at him, not changing facial expression, his smile faded.
Once it had, his glass-like eyes grew infinitely more serious.
“Well,” he said, placing the champagne flute on the silver tray and leaning back once more in the chair. “I certainly won’t waste time trying to learn your emotional triggers then,” he said. “Truthfully, I require your services only in the short term, so I likely wouldn’t have time to explore those triggers to the extent that would please me, anyway.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “I strongly suspect your husband is already desperately looking for you.”
I bit my lip. I wanted to ask him what he’d told Black, even as fear caught in my throat, a mind-numbing terror at the idea of Black being trapped by these things again. The very real possibility that Brick was using me as bait blanked out my mind. I had to fight every impulse not to scream at him, to demand he tell me what the hell was going on.
Brick continued to talk, seemingly oblivious.
“My need for your particular area of expertise is rather urgent, I’m afraid... and, dare I say it... of a personal nature. As a result, I’m unwilling to risk alienating you any more than absolutely necessary, Dr. Fox, for I truly do require your help. Moreover, I am willing to provide generous payment for that help. To your husband, at the very least... and to you by proxy. Under terms I hope you will both find agreeable.”
That time, I couldn’t help but stare at him.
Seeing that probing look still in his eyes, along with the sharper veneer of intensity that made me almost believe him, I let out an amused grunt.
“You want to hire me... and this is how you do it?” I said.
“Would you have come, had I approached you in any other way?” he countered.
Frowning, I started to answer, then didn’t.
I wouldn’t have, of course. I might have shot him, though.
I looked over at the blond female vampire watching us with dark red eyes.
I looked back at Brick.
“What do you need my help with?” I said, my voice still cold.
Black Blood: A Quentin Black Mystery Story: Quentin Black Mystery #5.5 Page 3