Raphael

by D. B. Reynolds

  In a blur of movement, Blondie was out of the chair and in front of the dark vampire. Cynthia jumped to her feet once again and had her back to the wall, her gun in her hands, feeling slightly foolish. Raphael—for there was no longer any doubt as to his identity—simply nodded to her, letting a small smile play over those sensuous lips. Cynthia stared at him, cursing the day she’d saved a vampire’s life, cursing the damn vampires and their games, cursing her mother for birthing her and her father for not moving her to Belgium . . . or Sweden, or anyplace that would have taken her far away from this place and this night.

  Raphael’s smile widened. He touched the blond’s shoulder. The other vampire gave her a single threatening glare and stepped aside. “My lieutenant, Duncan,” Raphael said to Cynthia by way of introduction.

  “Why?” Cynthia asked.

  He gave an elegant little shrug. “A test, if you will.” He sat in the recently vacated chair in front of her desk, while Duncan took up position behind his left shoulder. Raphael looked up at her, and in the brighter light, she could see his eyes were not simply dark, but truly black.

  “Please,” he gestured. “Sit, Ms. Leighton.”

  Cynthia regarded the pair of them suspiciously, then gave Lonnie a poisonous stare before once again pulling her chair over and sitting down.

  “How did you know?” Raphael asked. He had a warm, rich voice that flowed like sweet honey, a voice she could not only hear with her ears, but taste with her tongue, feel its heat against her lips. She licked those lips self-consciously and wondered if he was using some sort of magical vampire influence on her. Focus, Cynthia.

  “Two things,” she said finally, clearing her throat to speak more clearly. “When you first came through the door and I pulled my gun . . . he moved in front of you. And you let him. If you were his bodyguard, and if you were any good, he would never have been in my sights, which he most definitely was. For all the good it would have done,” she muttered to herself.

  Raphael nodded, his eyes lit with humor. “And the other?”

  “He has a Southern accent. From the American South. It’s hardly there, but if you listen, you can hear it. That makes him no more than three hundred years old, and probably quite a bit less. From everything I’ve heard about the lot of you, age equals power and that’s not old enough to run an empire the size of which I’m told you control.”

  All humor gone, his eyes were cold, onyx pits in an emotionless face. “And what have you heard about my so-called empire?”

  Cynthia forced herself to relax, scoot back in her chair and cross her legs casually. “Nothing, really. Hints here and there. I put them together. It’s what I do.”

  “Indeed.” He studied her quietly, then lifted his head slightly to the left. “Duncan?”

  “Yes, my lord.” He said it in answer to an unvoiced question.

  “Ms. Leighton, I have a job for you.”

  Cynthia gave a short nod. She’d assumed as much from Lonnie’s cryptic comments. Why else would he have come here, after all? She only waited for the bloodsucker to get on with it so she could get him out of her office and hopefully never see him again. Hell, she might even sell the whole damn building and move somewhere far away.

  Raphael’s lips twitched in brief amusement, and Cynthia wondered again about the vampire’s extraordinary powers. Could he read her mind? Or maybe he was just good at reading people’s faces.

  His expression hardened. “Someone,” he said. “Someone important to me, has been kidnapped. I want you to help me find her.”

  Cynthia sat up, suddenly very interested in what this particular bloodsucker had to say. “Kidnapped? Are you certain? I mean she didn’t—”

  “Run away?” Raphael laughed out loud. His laugh had a harsh, artificial quality. It was especially jarring in contrast to his mellow voice. “No, Ms. Leighton. You can be assured Alexandra did not run away. She would never willingly leave me,” he finished softly.

  Cynthia took his word for it, although she’d heard the same thing from the family of virtually every runaway she’d ever investigated on the job. “How do you know it was a kidnapping, then? Have they contacted you? Wait, when was this?” she asked abruptly, remembering Sergeant Linville and the report about “machine gun” fire.

  “Before sunrise on Sunday, more than two days now.”

  “You didn’t call the police?”

  “No, nor will I be doing so. Tell me, Ms. Leighton, why did you save Lonnie’s life?”

  Cynthia did a little double take at the sudden switch in conversation, but she answered without hesitation. “I don’t understand the question. He hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t going to stand there and let him be murdered because some asshole was a bigot.”

  “But he isn’t one of your own, not human. Why did he matter to you?”

  Cynthia snorted indelicately. “I don’t consider a lot of humans to be my own, either, but I’m not going to stand by and watch them die.”

  Raphael gave her a curious look. “Indeed. Well. Nonetheless we try to . . . minimize our contacts with human law enforcement. Given your rather unique history with Lonnie, I’m sure you can understand our reasons.”

  “Unfortunately,” she agreed, although she felt compelled to add, “Not all cops are like that. Most of them aren’t.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Raphael said absently, then looked directly at her. “As to how I know my Alexandra was taken, I have quite convincing evidence which you will see for yourself should you agree to work for me.”

  Cynthia knew she should decline the job. Just walk away from this one and go back to tracking down wayward spouses and old bank accounts. Kidnapping was out of her league, out of any PI’s league. Standard procedure in a kidnapping of any kind was a round the clock watch on the family, with phones tapped and all contacts vetted. Alone, she couldn’t come anywhere close to that kind of operation, and she had no one to call for help, especially not in a case like this. On the other hand, there was nothing standard or conventional about this case. And who was this Alexandra anyway? Did she want to be found? Was she his lover maybe? His wife? Did vampires marry? Talk about ‘til death do us part. Fifty years was one thing, five hundred was a whole new level of commitment.

  “All right,” she heard herself say. “I’ll need everything you have, or think you have. I want to see where she was taken from, and I want to interview everyone who was in the house or on the property at the time.”

  “Excellent. We will begin tonight. The ‘trail,’ as you humans put it, is already quite cold. I was out of town at the time, and the constraints imposed on us by our nature have conspired to delay this investigation far longer than I would have preferred. Lonnie?”

  Lonnie jumped like a frog, straightening from the corner where’d he’d hidden himself. “Sire?”

  “Bring Ms. Leighton to my estate.” He glanced at Cynthia. “I suspect she’ll be more comfortable in your car than in mine, and you can drive her back when we’ve finished.”

  “Of course, Sire.”

  Raphael stood. “Your questions will all be answered, Ms. Leighton. I look forward to working with you.”

  Duncan opened the door and stepped through and Cynthia glimpsed a number of vague, shadowy shapes lurking outside her office. They coalesced into a phalanx of bodyguards as soon as Raphael appeared, surrounding him as he went directly to a long, low limousine waiting with the door open.

  Cynthia got up and closed the door, taking a moment to catch her breath before shooting a furious look at Lonnie as she walked back to her desk. “Thanks for that, Lonnie.”

  He shrugged and smoothed his hair back with hands that were shaking worse than hers. “I had no choice, Cyn. When Raphael says jump, I say, “Please don’t hurt me, Master.”

  She huffed a disdainful breath and sat down, leaning back in her chair
. This whole situation was bad. Number one, she didn’t think meeting the head vamp was promising for her future health. There was a reason no one knew anything about vamp society; it was because they wanted it that way. On the other hand, she was intrigued. Life had been pretty boring lately; tracking down dead ancestors and spying on cheating spouses was lucrative, but not very exciting. Hell, before tonight, she hadn’t pulled her gun outside the range in . . . shit, six months maybe. B.o.r.i.n.g.

  “So who’s this Alexandra? His wife or something?”

  “Not a wife, no. Vamps don’t usually marry each other. Besides . . .” He moved closer, casting a guilty look over his shoulder, as if Raphael could somehow still be listening. “A vamp was killed when they took her, permanently killed. An old one named Matias. Rumor has it he and Alexandra were longtime lovers, and I know for a fact neither one of them took blood from the vein. If you know what I mean.”

  She gave him a blank look, then wrinkled her face in disgust. “Oh, yuck!”

  “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Cyn.”

  She made a dismissive noise. “So vamps don’t marry, huh? Not up to eternal fidelity?”

  Lonnie shook his head. “No nutritional value.” He laughed at the look on her face. “You ready to go?”

  “Why does it have to be tonight?”

  Lonnie’s usual easy personality returned. “Raphael said tonight, so tonight it is, babe. I’m only the chauffeur.”

  “Not my chauffeur, you’re not. I’ll take my own car. I learned that much in high school. And don’t ever call me babe again.”

  Lonnie gave her a pained look. “Okay, but follow my lead, Cyn. I’m serious. His security guys are a bunch of paranoid fucks and scary as hell.”

  “Gosh, Lonnie, you make it sound so inviting.” Cynthia gave her own grin. “I can hardly wait.”

  Chapter Seven

  CYNTHIA FOLLOWED Lonnie down the coast, wondering if vampires ever got cold. She had the heat going against the damp night air, but there was Lonnie, top down on his Porsche 911, his too-long hair blowing back from his face as they drove along at well over the speed limit. They passed through Malibu’s downtown area and continued along the cliffs where the really expensive estates were tucked away behind discreet gates. If you didn’t know better, you could drive right by several multimillion dollar mansions and not even know they were there. Lonnie hit the brakes and made a sharp left turn off the highway and onto a private drive nearly hidden by a hedge of towering oleander bushes. Cynthia followed, curious. This estate was a sizable chunk of very expensive property. She passed it nearly every day on her way to and from the office and had never once considered it might be owned by vamps. Not that they put out signs or anything, but it made her wonder how many other vampires lived in the neighborhood with no one the wiser.

  She slowed down as the narrow drive wound out towards the ocean, keeping an eye on Lonnie’s red taillights. The oleanders had given way to a dense grove of trees—torrey pines, live oaks, ironwood, even the sharp tang of eucalyptus scented the night air. Tangled undergrowth crowded the smoothly paved road, while the closely packed trees arched overhead to form an almost seamless canopy and seal out the night sky. There was no lighting along the road at all, only the random bits of moonlight that managed to make it through the thick foliage overhead. Vampires had excellent night vision; they’d have no trouble with the stygian lane. Humans on the other hand . . .

  About a hundred yards in, Lonnie’s taillights abruptly disappeared. Cyn’s heart did a little jump of surprise, but as she drew closer, she saw he’d actually turned, pulling up to the entrance of a heavy steel gate set into a thick stucco wall about ten feet high. Cynthia couldn’t see much, but in the wash of her headlights, the wall looked more beige than white. Sandstone maybe. One of those designer color names for what was really plain old beige. Two guards approached Lonnie’s car and she noticed two more standing at each side of the gate. All of the guards wore dark, SWAT style clothing and were armed with heavy automatic weapons. Tight security. Was it always like this, or had whatever happened caused the vamps to bring in the troops? Did she really want to know? Maybe not.

  Lonnie said something to one of the guards, who glanced up at Cyn, studying her in the faint light. She swallowed a gasp when his eyes flashed almost yellow in the glow of her headlights, and she felt her heart beat a little bit faster. She’d met with plenty of vamps. Talked to even more of them on the phone. But this was the veritable lion’s den. Raphael was old . . . really old and really, really powerful. He had probably held this territory for longer than she’d been alive. Hell, longer than her grandparents had been alive. She wondered abruptly if there were any other humans here tonight. Would she be the only one? Not a pleasant thought.

  Whatever Lonnie said to the guards, it worked. The big steel gate rolled back and the Porsche’s engine revved noisily as it bumped over the threshold. Cynthia followed closely, careful to keep her eyes looking forward, but keenly aware of the vamp guards’ scrutiny as she went by. The big gate rumbled closed behind her, and she began to see some low-profile lighting, first along the drive and then throughout carefully landscaped and beautifully maintained grounds. She breathed a sigh of relief, only to suck it back in a silent “oh” when the big house came into view.

  She’d expected something gothic, or maybe faux Southern with moss hanging from a columned front porch. Instead, Raphael’s house was a modern architect’s dream, with the sweet, clean lines of the southwest. It was modest by Malibu standards, the main house maybe 8000 square feet with two smaller outbuildings and a long, six bay garage. The structure was two-storied, with the second floor set far back, leaving a broad, high terrace open to the stars and sea. Cyn figured there was also a basement level she couldn’t see, because, after all, vampires lived here.

  In sharp contrast to the darkened approach from the highway, the house was almost saturated with light, carefully designed to display the architectural highlights, as well as the many smaller balconies and alcoves along its length. A full-sized infinity pool took up one entire side yard, with even more light shining up from within its depths. Cyn wondered if vampires took midnight swims. No umbrellas, she noticed. Which made sense if you thought about it.

  The drive rolled down a slight hill to a simple entrance, with stairs leading up to a set of elegantly glassed double doors on a wide, covered porch. Vampire guards were visible here, all along the courtyard, and even more could be seen in constant movement in and around the various buildings. Now that she knew what to look for, Cyn spotted dark profiles on balconies and even hulking beneath the overhang along the pool.

  Guards surrounded her vehicle as soon as she came to a stop. Cyn focused on breathing while she waited for Lonnie to pry himself out of his Porsche and make his way over to her SUV.

  “Come on, Cyn.” He tried to open her car door, then knocked cheerfully on her window when he discovered it was locked. “They’re just having some fun. The master’s expecting you, don’t worry.”

  Master. That was twice Lonnie had referred to Raphael as “master.” It was creepy in a Renfield, fly-eating sort of way and Cyn began to worry about what she’d find behind the bright lights and pretty architecture of the vampire’s lair. She turned off the engine and gathered her backpack, along with her courage, then opened the door, only to have one of the guards hold out his hand for her keys.

  She clutched them close, her gaze never leaving the guard.

  “Think of it as valet parking,” Lonnie said in a soothing voice. He pried the keys from her hand and tossed them to the guard. “What? You think Lord Raphael does a business in chop-shop car parts or something? Relax, Cyn.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she muttered. She turned to follow him up the stairs, then stuttered to a halt as a suit-clad vampire came through the front doors, escorting two women and a man who were obviously out of it, either amazingly d
runk . . . or something else.

  “Lonnie,” she murmured.

  He followed her gaze to the stumbling trio and shrugged. “They’re all volunteers, Cyn. You know about the beach house. People beg for the chance to come out here and . . . uh . . .” He was plainly searching for a way of phrasing it that wouldn’t offend. “You know,” he said, finally, shaking his head in exasperation.

  Cynthia did know. She knew about the women, and men, who willingly, hell eagerly, offered themselves up for the experience of having a vampire feed from them. It was like a drug for some of them, supposedly a sexual high like no ordinary human could ever offer. And like any drug, it had its addicts. “How often do they come out here?” she asked.

  “The same ones? Not often. But we bring volunteers out here a couple times a week. Men and women, Cyn. Not only for Lord Raphael, but his guards, too, the ones who can’t leave the estate because they’re on duty or whatever.”

  “How come no one knows about this estate?” she asked, changing the subject. “I mean, I drive by here every day and I never even suspected it was like command central for whatever you call Raphael . . . King of the Vampires? Prince of the Blood?” She dragged out the last word, making it sound like Bela Lugosi’s Dracula.

  “Fuck!” Lonnie grabbed her arm and jerked her close, his eyes darting glances at the surrounding guards. “Don’t say shit like that, Cyn,” he hissed. “Christ, you’ll get us both killed, and I mean for good this time. Listen, you call him ‘my lord’ or ‘Lord Raphael,’ okay? That’s it. Think of him as royalty.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not my lord, this is America, you know.”

  Lonnie laughed almost hysterically. “I can’t believe this. I’m gonna die for sure.” He gave her a pleading look. “Raphael owns this territory, Cyn. Please don’t insult him. I like living forever.”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes and blew out a disgusted breath. “You worry too much, Lonnie. Come on, let’s get this over with.”