But of all she read, one fact remained consistent: They were incredibly pale, gaunt, fanged creatures with an insatiable thirst for human blood, and they possibly possessed the ability to read minds. It would be hard to bring one down, but she was sure it could be done.
Aria read the pages of the journal Curtis had given her, discovering a great deal about his great-grandfather. According to the diary, a vampire by the name of Eron had crept into Alfred Dunn's bedroom at night and forewarned him he was going to execute his son for his sins. The following morning, Alfred's twenty-year-old son Patrick was found dead in an alley. That was when Alfred Dunn became a vampire hunter. He searched all of Ireland for the vampire named Eron, but he couldn't find him. He found others, but he didn't kill them. He wanted Eron.
He studied, researched and hunted night and day. The search led him to America, and eventually Maryland.
Aria found the diary portions harder to understand once Alfred reached Baltimore in 1969. His beautiful script had turned into rash scribbles, his once elegant words and phrasing turned into an erratic scrawl, as though his mind were racing faster than he could find words to describe his thoughts and observations.
He made several notes about vampires, listing their known hangouts, names of vampires he'd interviewed or heard of, dates of sightings. Lists of names were long and scattered throughout the pages, not in any logical order. Aria scanned a page of them.
Addison, Bethany, Gregario, Jonathan Deville, Olden, Katerina, Palo, Lionel, Demarcus, Niles, Robert Savant, Seta, Carson, Rialto . . .
Rialto.
Aria halted at the name as images plowed into her. She and a large, golden-skinned man with dark, wavy hair cascading down to his shoulder blades wrapped around each other amid a tangle of white cotton sheets. Her sheets, from her very own bed in her downtown apartment. The window to the balcony was open, and she could feel the wind blowing through it, cooling the droplets of sweat clinging to her naked body as the man moved in and out of her. She could smell nighttime air, fresh linen, and the man's spicy scent. Their sweat fused together and produced a scent of its own, coconut and spicy earth. It was the most delicious scent she had ever breathed in. And the pleasure she felt as he slid in and out of her was more intense and gratifying than anything she had ever experienced. She could barely contain herself as he continued the sweet torture, changing his rhythm from fast to slow, teasing her over and over again, prolonging her ecstasy until she screamed out his name.
Rialto.
Aria wiped away the sheen of sweat which had spread across her forehead and willed her heart to quit racing. “And I thought Curtis needed to get laid,” she murmured to herself, surprised by the intensity of her daydream. She could still smell the man's lingering scent, and she was wet from the desire surging through her.
She'd been having dreams of the same man for months, though she struggled to remember everything that happened in them. All she could remember was making love to him. Sometimes it was slow and sweet, sometimes fast and wild . . . but she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was something vital she was forgetting.
A sick thought crept into her mind, and she stared at the name in horror. If it was written in Alfred Dunn's journal, it was because the name belonged to a vampire. But surely she wasn't dreaming about having sex with that Rialto. The man in her dreams was too dark and muscular to be a vampire, and never, not even in a dream, could she defile her mother's memory by sleeping with the same kind of monster that killed her.
Paint splatters across canvas. Red. Black. Gray mixed with blue. A little girl with dark, flowing hair and pale golden skin stands in the middle of a circle of children, crying as they taunt her. Zebra girl. Half-breed. The words pelt her like stones
The girl now kisses a blond, tanned man, both of them young, barely seventeen. She believes his vows of love and surrenders her body to him willingly. Pink and yellow paint on canvas, the strokes light and airy
Crimson slashes splatter across the pink, and the young man's face now appears red and angry as he hurls the same words from her childhood at her, striking at her with the back of his hand. Her skin has darkened with the summer sun, beautiful and exotic. Mocha cream
Another slosh of red paint. A cross burns in a yard. The young woman cries in front of it. Her emerald eyes shine through her tears. Beyond the burning cross, a body is removed from a small blue house. A white sheet covers its face, but a dark brown hand hangs off the side of the stretcher. Her father's hand. Black paint on canvas. The brush strokes are hard and angry
Baltimore. The brush strokes soften, but still only the dark colors adorn the canvas. Black, gray, the darkest of blues and purples. A pale blond woman lies on a metal slab, her blank eyes staring at the ceiling. Two holes lie in her neck. The vampire hunter stares at them, balling her fists in anger, vowing to find the one who did this to her mother
Red paint splatters across the canvas. The vampire hunter sits in a library, her head bowed over a leather book, a diary of sorts. She reads his name and she remembers his touch . . .
The world turns dark and cold, blue twilight creeps through the branches hanging overhead as he finds himself standing in the silvery forest he's come to know as the dream realm. The blind witch is there before him. “Protect her,” she says to him, “for you will die without her and so will this world.
Rialto jolted awake, his heart pounding furiously. She was close. He knew this now more than ever. She was right here in Baltimore, most likely still sitting at the library reading that journal.
He crossed the hotel room and entered the bathroom, stepping into the shower to clean away the sweat drenching his body. Even with the water streaming over his face, he could still smell her sweet scent. Coconut. Sweet and tropical. Perfection.
Snap out of it, he cautioned himself. She was trying to avenge a loved one's death by becoming a vampire hunter, going by the so-called evidence she'd found in the morgue and information written in a diary. She believed vampires to be cruel killers, yet she made love to him in her dreams. The dichotomy didn't matter. She could prove to be very dangerous.
And she had a journal with information about him and possibly more of his kind. It simply could not be allowed. Vampires survived by remaining beneath the radar, never allowing their pictures to be taken, changing their names each decade or moving often. They never allowed documentation of their existence. Rialto had to know what was in the journal and how the woman had come to possess it.
He turned off the water and stepped out of the stall. A vampire did not kill the woman's mother, but she would get herself killed trying to find a murdering vampire who didn't even exist. And according to the old witch in his dream, he couldn't allow that to happen.
Although common sense told him to stay far away from this vengeful woman, he feared the old witch's predictions far more than he feared the huntress. The witch had come to him with warnings before, and he'd found that not listening to her caused great suffering.
With a cold shiver, one last remnant from his dream, crawling up his spine, he quickly dressed in black and left his hotel room to find the woman.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
Aria jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder. She whirled around and grabbed the owner's wrist by reflex, preparing to perform a move she'd learned in a women's defense class.
"Oh! I'm sorry!” she blurted when she realized she had grabbed hold of Curtis, startling him in the process.
"Um, I have to lock up now, Aria. The announcement was made over the intercom a little while ago, and the computer systems have all been shut down. I can save these books for you behind the counter if you'd like. You can check them out tomorrow."
Aria turned her head and noticed the time on the large clock hanging from the wall in front of her. She had been so wrapped up in Alfred Dunn's journal she hadn't heard the announcement about the library closing, much less noticed it emptying out. It appeared she and Curtis were the only two pe
ople remaining in the building. “Oh, that's okay,” she said finally, realizing Curtis was staring down at her, an odd expression on his face. She closed the journal she had been immersed in, but couldn't quite hand it over. She found herself holding it protectively to her chest. “Actually, would you mind if I kept this for a while? There's a lot of useful information in here, and I've really just begun reading it."
"Oh, uh, well . . ."
"Please.” She gave him her best persuasive smile.
Curtis's forehead wrinkled as he looked uneasily from the book to her face. “I guess you can. You know there isn't any truth to what's in there, right?"
"Of course, silly!” Aria forced herself to laugh, hoping it didn't sound fake. “What your great-grandfather wrote about is just so interesting, really clever."
"Really?” Curtis seemed to radiate pride for a short moment before something else stole the sparkle from his eyes. “People said he was a mad man."
"Oh, well, he had an interesting mind. Very imaginative. The journal has given me quite a few ideas. This could be my chance to make it into horror fiction!"
"So you think you might be the next Anne Rice?"
"Maybe."
"Yeah, sure. You can keep it for a while. I don't have any use for it anymore.” Curtis shrugged as he grabbed a stack of books from the table and carried them toward the counter. Aria pulled on her jacket, swung her backpack over her shoulder and grabbed the remaining books, following behind. “Oh, thanks. I could have gotten those books for you, though."
Curtis took the remaining books from her with an awkward smile and put them beneath the counter with the others. “I'll have these ready for you when you stop by tomorrow.” He straightened and shuffled his feet nervously. “It's, uh, pretty late. Can I give you a ride?"
"Oh, no thanks. I'd prefer to walk."
"This late at night? There are a lot of unsavory characters out there, Aria."
"I'll be fine. I have my Mace with me.” And a backpack filled with other goodies. Besides, she didn't need witnesses for what she was about to do. The journal listed several addresses of known vampire hangouts right there in Baltimore, and some of those places were still around. Now it was time to see if the vampires themselves were still around.
She let Curtis walk her out of the library, but waited until he got into his car and drove away before she turned opposite the direction of her home and started walking toward The Lair. She had never been a club person herself so The Lair was not familiar to her, but she knew the club sat in the same spot The Serpent's Tooth used to occupy. The Serpent's Tooth was one of the vampire hideouts listed in the journal.
Suddenly, Aria froze as she felt a set of eyes boring into her back, but the feeling that came over her was more than one of just being watched. She felt as though someone was listening to her, hearing the very thoughts which ran through her mind, searching those thoughts for information. She turned and looked back toward the library. Nothing was there but shadows. Yet, she still felt it—the alarming yet oddly comforting feeling that someone was there listening. Slowly, the feeling dissolved and she turned back in the direction of The Lair.
Immediately after her mother's death, she'd started gathering items for her vampire arsenal. The backpack she now carried contained matches, lighters, wooden stakes and squirt guns filled with holy water. She fingered one of the three crosses hanging from her neck for extra reassurance as she neared the vicinity of the club. If The Lair was still a vampire hot spot, she needed to be ready. Although her original idea was to kill her mother's murderer, she wouldn't hesitate to take out anyone who got in her way. If she'd learned anything from Dunn's diary, it was that vampires protected their own. If she had to go through several of them to get to the one who took her mother's life, so be it. They were all bloodsucking killers anyway. She repeated that to herself as she continued her trek.
A block away from the club, the feeling of being watched crept down her spine again. She turned in a circle, scanning the dark streets for the cause of it, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Empty buildings, mostly businesses which were closed for the night, lined both sides of the street. Nothing moved but the shadows. The only sound was that of the gentle wind.
"Get it together, girl,” she told herself, dismissing the strange feeling as a by-product of fear. She walked past vacant stores and narrow alleys, summoning the painful image of her mother's dead body for motivation. She would not hide in fear. She would not back down. She would spare no mercy. Any vampire who got in her way would die tonight. For her mother.
As The Lair loomed before her, her anger mounted. She paused momentarily to study the building. Sitting at the end of a dead-end street with no nearby street lights, the dark gray brick monstrosity seemed befitting a vampire hangout. The windows were dark, but she could see the flashing of red and purple strobe lights inside. Large red lightbulbs glared from around the black vinyl door, as the beat of eerie techno music wafted through the air. There was a steady stream of young Goth and punk partygoers entering the building, laughing and hanging upon one another in various stages of drunkenness. How nice it would be to feel young and carefree, but that life was not for Aria. That life had been stolen from her a long time ago.
She couldn't help wondering if the young partygoers were just people like her . . . or vampires. Realization finally slammed into Aria. How was she supposed to know until it was too late? She couldn't very well just approach an unusually pale person and stab him, could she?
"What the hell am I doing?” she muttered beneath her breath, swaying under a sudden dizzy spell. Doubt and trepidation battled with her need for revenge while she tried to decide on a plan of action. She had studied vampires for months. She couldn't let another parent's death go unavenged. “I have to do this."
Aria studied the club for a few minutes longer. If the place really was filled with vampires, it wouldn't be wise to walk right into the middle of them. She would rather take them down one at a time, if she had to, especially if they really did have superhuman strength. There had to be a back door. Maybe there was a back window she could peek into without being seen. Then, after having a better idea of the club's internal layout, she could devise a plan of attack. At the least, she would have knowledge of what actually happened in the club.
She turned right and walked down the alley which would take her to the rear of the building. Just as she'd suspected, there was a back door and two small, barred windows on either side. She headed toward them.
Two feet away from the door, a dark shadow emerged from behind a Dumpster in front of her.
"Well, well, well. Lookie what we gots here, June Bug,” the figure said as he swaggered in her direction. Not a drunken swagger, but the cocky walk of an average street punk who thought he was about to get his jollies.
"Looks yummy,” another male voice, which Aria assumed belonged to June Bug, responded from four feet behind her.
Aria quickly took in her surroundings. She was stuck between the back of The Lair and another large building. The Dumpster the first man had been hiding behind sat in front of a seven foot tall wire fence which prevented any escape from that direction, even if she were able to get past the man.
As the first man neared, she made out his features. He was Latino with a sharp nose, narrow dark eyes, and a scar which ran from the corner of his left eye down to his chin. His jeans were ripped and loose fitting, his white T-shirt smeared with grime. The red bandanna wrapped around his head hid his hair and brought attention to the gold hoop in his right ear. He couldn't have been any older than nineteen.
"What do you want with me?” she demanded.
The scar-faced man laughed. “Well, for starters, chica, we're going to take all your money and those crosses hanging around your neck.” He reached out and lifted the large gold nugget ring, which also hung from her neck on a gold chain, as June Bug closed in on her from behind, his erection pressing against her buttocks. “We're gonna pawn those, but I think I'll keep this f
or myself."
"Then we're going to screw you,” June Bug added, his hot breath crawling across her neck. “At the same time."
"Too bad for you guys that you just made one crucial mistake,” Aria growled as she repositioned her feet and subtly positioned her hands for attack.
"Yeah?” Scar Face laughed again. “What's that?"
"Nobody takes my daddy's ring.” Aria slammed the heel of her right hand into the scarred man's nose, breaking it instantly while she reached behind her with the left and grabbed hold of June Bug's testicles, yanking them hard enough to make the man scream. As Scar Face howled in pain and backed away with his hands covering his broken nose, Aria took the opportunity to spin and use her backpack to hit June Bug in the head, knocking him down. He landed face down on the ground, his hands covering his crotch while he wailed in pain.
Aria slung her backpack over her shoulder and started to run, but Scar Face grabbed her by her long hair and spun her around, hard enough to send her flying into the back wall of The Lair. Her head rammed into the brick and pain ricocheted through her skull. Before she could sink to the ground, Scar Face placed his forearm beneath her chin, pinning her to the wall and making it harder for her to breathe. He reached behind him with his other hand, pulling a gun from the back of his waistband.
"You wanna do this the hard way, bitch?” He cocked the gun and pointed it in her face. “We'll still do ya after you're dead. Don't make us no damn difference."
Aria stared down the barrel of the gun but refused to cry. Unbelievably, she almost laughed at the absurdity. She had come to the club prepared to kill and was now about to be killed herself. Her father had been killed by a racist, her mother by a vampire, and now she was about to be taken out by a teenaged, grammatically-challenged punk and his friend who had yet to quit crying over his nuts.
She lifted her gaze from the gun barrel and aimed it straight into the punk's eyes. “Screw yourself, you little uneducated twerp."
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