by Megan Derr
"Wanna come try it out, Johnnie?" Walsh asked. "We got something else for you to try."
Johnnie's brows went up at that. "Oh?" He finished his tea and handed the cup back to Peyton with a thank you, then wandered over to the new pool table, slate with blue velvet, the new wood bright and glistening. It really was a beauty.
Micah smiled and set a long case on the table, accepting the cane in exchange when Johnnie gave it to him. Opening the box, Johnnie smiled at the contents—a custom cue stick. It was glossy black, overlaid with a paisley pattern in blue, gray, and silver.
He removed the two pieces and screwed them together, then set it on the pool table. Removing his sapphire cuff links, he tucked them into a pocket of his blue vest, then rolled the sleeves of his black-striped shirt up the elbows. Retrieving his cue stick, he ordered, "Rack'em."
They played pool for hours—one on one, two against two, across both tables, until coffee and tea became beer and vodka, and even Peyton and Bergrin played a couple of games each.
Johnnie tossed back a shot of vodka, then sank another ball. Peyton approached with a tray of fresh drinks for everyone, laughing at something Heath had said—
—When the chiming of the door drew them all up short. Almost as one, their heads turned toward the sound. Johnnie paused, attention immediately grabbed by the woman's obvious distress.
Peyton immediately set down his tray of drinks and strode to her. "Hello, miss," he greeted.
She was a vampire, Johnnie noted; probably not over a hundred years old, or not by much. She had a winsome, old-school sort of beauty. Her mahogany hair was upswept in a careful arrangement of curls, held in place by gold hairpins, with a long, pretty winter dress of dark green wool with touches of black and gold. It fell to just past the tips of black leather boots. She clung to a matching purse, a handkerchief in her other hand.
The clothes were good quality, but not great, and all her jewelry was plain gold, small, simple stuff. So, middle-class, probably a peasant who did not live in vampire territory.
"Um—" the woman fumbled with her kerchief, wiping her eyes and nose, then tried again. "I need help finding someone. A woman told me that I should come here, to the Bremen, and ask for Johnnie Goodnight."
Surprise rippled through Johnnie, and across the room he saw Bergrin tense. Motioning for Bergrin to stay put, Johnnie moved closer as Peyton laughed and took the woman by the arm. "That's Johnnie, right there. I'll get you a glass of wine, just sit here and don't cry. Johnnie will help you."
Handing off the pool cue he realized he still held, Johnnie slid into an empty seat at the woman's table. "I am Johnnie Goodnight."
"Rita Bauer," the woman replied. "I hope I am not being a bother, sir."
"Not at all. You said you were trying to find someone?"
"Sort of," Rita said, sniffling again. After a moment, though, she regained control of herself and said in a low tone, "It is a bit of a long story, I'm afraid."
Johnnie smiled and took the wineglass Peyton brought over, pushing it across the table to her. "That is not a problem. Simply start at the beginning and tell me everything."
"We met twenty years ago," Rita said, talking more to her hands and the wine than to Johnnie. She smiled sadly. "Scandalous, in vampire years, to be so absolutely certain of someone after only two decades. My parents knew each other for nearly sixty years before they even began to speak of marriage. He was on vacation, and I had just moved there. We met by chance at the resort where I was working, and immediately hit it off. He could not stay long, but every few months he came to see me again—sometimes for a couple of days, sometimes for a week, twice he stayed an entire month."
Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she reached up absently to wipe them away with gloved fingers. "The last time we were together, he said he wanted to marry me. All he needed was to get his father's permission. When he said that might take time, I of course understood." She finally looked up at Johnnie. "He is nobility, you see. I have never known everything about him; I do not think I even know his real name, he seems to prefer not to be nobility when he is around me, you know?"
"I understand completely," Johnnie murmured.
"I only knew to come here because of some of the things he said, and process of elimination, but—" She wiped more tears away. "You see, he promised me that, good news or bad, he would return in two months. It has been six. I was worried about him, so I tracked him this far. I was not certain I was correct in my guesswork, until yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Johnnie asked.
She nodded, then burst into tears, sobbing into her hands. "He looked straight at me! He met my eyes, and did not recognize me! He said he loved me, and gave me his mother's ring, and when he saw me he might as well have been looking at a stranger! I want to know what has happened to the man I love!"
Reaching across the table, Johnnie took her hands, gently rubbing his thumbs across the back of them. "I promise to help you," he said. "Tell me what you know about him. What name did you use? Where did you see him yesterday?"
"I—I have a picture," Rita said, sniffling. She wiped her eyes and nose again, then fumbled with her purse. Swearing softly when she could not manage the clasp with her gloved hands, she set the purse aside and yanked off the gloves. Throwing them on the table, she reached for the purse again.
But by the time she pulled the picture out, Johnnie did not need it.
On the ring finger of Rita's left hand was a beautiful ring, with one large sapphire surrounded by diamonds and pearls. The ring was an heirloom, passed down for centuries from mother to son, to be bestowed upon the next bride. In her will, following tradition, Sariah had bequeathed the ring to Elam.
Johnnie took the picture as she held it out, and the hopeful look in her eyes hurt. He glanced at the image, briefly startled by it.
The man in the picture was not the stiff, cold Elam he knew. The pictures of Elam around the house were of a cool, reserved, proud Desrosiers. This picture … showed Elam in a sweater and jeans, hair tousled, smiling fondly at whoever held the camera. He looked softer, kinder. Almost like a stranger. Turning the picture over on a whim, Johnnie was not surprised to find something written, though the words were nearly as startling as the picture itself. Love you, Ree. Ellie.
Johnnie set the photo on the table. "Your lover is the Alucard Elam Desrosiers—"
"What!" Rita burst out, then clapped her hands over her mouth.
"I am afraid, my lady, that he is to be formally betrothed tomorrow night, at a ball our father is hosting. He is my brother, you see."
"Betrothed—" Rita's face crumbled into a tangle of misery and pain, the heartache so apparent that Johnnie nearly winced. She folded her arms on the table, then buried her head in them and began to sob uncontrollably.
Standing, Johnnie moved around the table and sat down next to her. "Rita—" He urged her to lift her head a bit, then grasped her chin and forced it all the way up. "Rita, I think something is seriously wrong with my brother." He retrieved the photo. "My brother looks happy here. He never looks happy, trust me. Do not give up. The key is in your encounter, and in the promise he made you."
"Wh—what do you mean?" Rita asked.
Johnnie pulled out his own handkerchief and handed it to her, then said, "Ellie would never pretend not to know someone. If he had decided not to marry you, he would have told you so. If he had come across you in public, he would have at least acknowledged you. Anything else, he would consider crass and dishonorable. He also would never break a promise. Never. That is two things he would never do, that he has done. And I reiterate—he looks happy in the picture you took of him. Ergo, something is wrong. Do not yet succumb to despair."
He nudged the wine closer. "Drink that, and fortify yourself, because I am afraid you will have to tell your story to someone else."
"Who?" Rita asked.
"Our father," Johnnie said. Standing again, he moved to the bar and signaled Peyton for a drink. Pulling out his phone, he dialed his fath
er's number.
"John?" Ontoniel answered immediately.
"You need to come see me, now," Johnnie said. "We have a major problem concerning Ellie."
The line went dead. A moment later, Ontoniel appeared in the bar by the front door.
Rita drew a sharp breath, and flushed bright red. "Oh, my –you look—you look just like him."
Ontoniel's sharp, pale eyes immediately snapped to her—then widened slightly as he saw the ring she wore. Stalking toward her, he held out his hand, gently clasping hers when she gave it. Rubbing his thumb over the ring, he asked softly, "Where did you get this ring, my dear?"
"El—Ellie gave it to me, six months ago," Rita said. "He—he said that he was going to seek his father's permission for us to marry."
"I see," Ontoniel said, voice still soft, pensive, his face inscrutable. He looked at Rita for several long moments, then lifted her hand and kissed it. "I would have given it, had he approached me. He never did."
He released her hand and glanced toward the bar. "Peyton, was it not? Your best scotch. John, how do these puzzles always simply fall into your lap?"
"A talent," Johnnie said.
"Or a curse," Bergrin added.
Ontoniel laughed. "I think I must agree with your bodyguard. Come and sit with us, John. Let us try and figure out this very curious dilemma."
Pushing away from the bar, Johnnie obediently went to join them, taking the whiskey Peyton held with him and sliding it across the table to his father. Sitting down, he said, "Rita, tell my father everything you told me."
"Yes, sir—uh, Master—"
"Johnnie is fine, please."
Rita nodded, then glanced shyly at Ontoniel, then finally began to recount again how she and Elam had met, their engagement, how he had never returned—and how he had not recognized her when they met on the street.
"Someone has cursed my son," Ontoniel said when she had finished. His voice was level, calm, but Johnnie knew from the darkening of his eyes that whoever was behind this, had just numbered his own days.
"That was my supposition," Johnnie said. "It is possible we are looking at two curses. A love spell, obviously, and tied to that could be a spell to forget all other lovers. That is tricky work, though."
"All other passions," Ontoniel said grimly. "I cannot remember the last time Elam played the piano, or even walked around with sheet music. At first, I thought he was actually obeying me and trying to pay attention to his new fiancée—but it was beginning to concern me, and now I hear this."
Johnnie's mouth dropped open briefly. Elam not playing piano was like Johnnie not reading. "Tell me more about Ekaterina and her family; they are the likeliest suspects."
Ontoniel frowned. "I just do not see why they would bother. Even if I had broken the arrangement so that Elam could marry Rita, Ekaterina comes from a good family, and I do not doubt they turned down other offers to accept ours. To be honest, most would consider any of those offers better; I am counted too radical these days."
Johnnie nodded, feeling guilty—most of the 'radical' changes Ontoniel had made in the last two decades had been directly related to him. Ontoniel had caused quite an uproar adopting a human child, even if he had done so out of a sense of responsibility. Then he had gone and changed so many things about his daily life and territory … "So why did they accept?"
"Because I may be radical, but I am also extremely wealthy," Ontoniel said dryly. "My money is old world, brought successfully to the new world. My territory is ideally situated, featuring a prosperous city, a fine stretch of beach, and of course there is Jesse's casino. My wife was very old world, our family has, as they like to say, a fine pedigree." He shrugged. "This is why it confuses me anyone would resort to such tactics. There was no reason for them. Elam agreed to the marriage, yes, but if we had broken it off, there were better options waiting in the wings—and all would sympathize with Ekaterina being yet another victim of my radical tendencies."
"Perhaps they want something more, or need this match for some reason unknown to us," Johnnie said.
"Perhaps," Ontoniel agreed. "I of course did a thorough background check, but I am not as rigorous as some. Every family, after several centuries, has things it does not like to discuss. I try to respect that. If we are to look into this further, I ask only that we keep it as discreet as possible."
"Of course," Johnnie said. "We do not want further curses cast, after all. I should go speak with Rostiya, he will have the best advice regarding the curses."
Ontoniel nodded. "Very well. I fervently hope that Ekaterina and her family are not behind this, but I do not see who else could be."
Johnnie shrugged. "The ball is tomorrow; we can observe everything then, yes? Especially if we bring Rita along. If the forgetting curse is tied to the love spell, then it should degrade and fray as he sees her more and more. But, I will verify that with Rostiya."
"I will leave it to you, then," Ontoniel said. "But, please, John, have a care. I apparently have one cursed son; I do not need to hear that the other has been attacked and nearly kidnapped a fourth time."
"Yes, Father," Johnnie replied. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing, for the moment. I do not want to alert anyone and scare them into doing something worse. I want them nice and dozy until I choose to kill them." He stood up and held his hand out to Rita, kissing hers as she gave it to him. "My dear, I am very sorry for all of this. I look forward to properly meeting you when the trouble is over. Tomorrow night we will hopefully set all of this to rights. Johnnie, use my funds for her, however you see fit."
"Yes, father."
Ontoniel nodded and rose, then looked briefly to Bergrin, still casually slouched at his own table. They seemed to share some silent communication, which annoyed Johnnie to no end. Then, Ontoniel was gone.
Around the room, everyone seemed to release a pent-up breath all at once. "I cannot believe the Dracula himself has been here twice," Nelson said.
"No shit," Walsh agreed.
"That man is scary as hell," Chuck added.
Johnnie glared at all of them. "My father is not scary."
Micah laughed. "So says Dracula, Jr. The Alucard might look like his father, but everything else about that man went to you."
"What—" Johnnie cut off as, of all things, his face flushed hot. The men all laughed, and beside him even Rita burst into giggles.
"It's true," she said with a gentle, pretty little smile. "I had heard before that Dracula Desrosiers had adopted a human, but I never believed it. If not for the fact you are definitely human, I would have sworn the two of you were related. You're very close, aren't you?"
"Uh—" Johnnie did not know what to say to that. He and Ontoniel close? That made no sense. Elam and Ontoniel were closer by far.
A hand dropped on Johnnie's shoulder, then Bergrin's mocking voice chimed in, "Very close; the Dracula spoils him rotten."
Johnnie rolled his eyes at the absurdity of that statement, then stood, dislodging Bergrin's hand. He said, "I am going to get ready. We are going to the Last Star."
"Yes, Highness," Bergrin replied.
Johnnie cast him a withering look, then stopped. "Oh, yes. My lady," he said, turning back to Rita, "the formal ball tomorrow night—have you anything suitable?"
Rita shook her head, looking embarrassed. "Nothing fit for the Dracula's home, and I brought none of my formal clothes with me, anyway."
"I will have a friend of mine take you around," Johnnie said, and pulled out his phone to call Phil.
An hour later, he and Bergrin arrived at the Last Star, after sending Phil off with Rita to put a dent in his father's checking account.
Johnnie stepped back, away from Bergrin, wishing quietly that he had just one small excuse to remain close. "I admit, babysitter, you are vastly more useful now I know you can do that."
"I live to serve," Bergrin said dryly, tugging at the brim of his cap. He looked up at the impressive monolith that was Jesse's casino. "So this is the Last St
ar, huh?"
Johnnie looked at him in surprise. "Have you never been here?"
"Only once," Bergrin replied, something in his tone oddly tense. "I was working, so I didn't really see much, you know?"
"Mm," Johnnie agreed.
"Plus, it's not exactly my kind of place. I don't make enough money to gamble it all blithely away, and I'm not exactly crème de la crème."
Johnnie batted the words aside. "As if that matters." He hesitated, then spoke before he could change his mind. "We can always come again, sometime, when we are not working."
"You lead and I shall follow," Bergrin replied.
Johnnie nodded and turned away, stifling his disappointment. What had he expected, really? For Bergrin to say yes?