by J. R. Rain
“You’re a sick son-of-a-bitch.”
“Someone has to be, mon. It’s the way of the food chain.”
I had the bullet now, and in one motion I yanked it free and hurled it deep into Demande’s neck. Perfect shot. Except I didn’t wait around long enough to assess the damage.
It was time to find Parker and stop the latest zombie invasion.
Chapter Eighteen
As a vampire, I am faster than mere mortals. So I should have been able to get back to Parker before Demande’s goons got there.
But my wound was slowing me down. Even though I’d removed the bullet, the silver was coursing through my veins like a poison. I caught the elevator down, holding one hand over my wound. I thought I was hustling, but out in the hall I was passed up by a guy with a towel around his waist and a hot dog in each hand. Not one of my better days.
Plus Demande’s goons were souped up on something—whether drugs or some sort of magic spell, I wasn’t sure. I climbed the stairs on rubbery legs, opening my mind to pick up on Parker’s thoughts. I got nothing.
When I reached the room where I’d locked her in, I found the door forced open. The room was unoccupied, with no sign of a struggle. The goons had beaten me here, and I’d dragged Parker into a mess.
Well, technically, this cruise had been about helping her friend, but I risked her neck by planting the nzambi finger on her. And as weakened as I was, I couldn’t count on telepathy to track her down.
The only thing to do was to go back to Demande’s room. If the goons found Demande dead, who knew what they’d do to Parker? But I wasn’t really counting on Demande being dead. Or, more accurately, I didn’t think he’d stay dead.
I turned around and there were the same security guards that had accosted me after the gunshot, when Scumbag Steve was first luring us into his little scheme.
“Excuse me, sir,” said the burly one who had cuffed me earlier. His female partner did the old slap-the-billy-club-on-her-palm signature move.
I grinned, but my fangs were still out a little so I kept my lips pressed together. “I’d love to chat, but I’m late for ‘Pookie Sings the Best of Bette Midler’ in the lounge.”
“That’s not until tonight,” the female said. “Besides, that’s only two songs.”
“Yeah, I can’t keep track of anything without my wife,” I said. “So I better go find her.”
I tried to walk past, but the burly guard grabbed my arm. “Mr. Cole, since that first gunshot—”
“Did you find out who did it?” I said, as innocently as I could. “If you need me to give another eyewitness account, I’m always happy to help out the boys in blue.”
Slap slap, the billy club against the palm, a little harder now. “We’re not all boys and we wear white,” she said.
“As I was saying,” said Burly Guy. “We’ve had a couple more incidents since then. And we—”
“Yes, take the security of your guests very seriously,” I said. “But what’s that got to do with me?”
“There were reports of shots fired in the luxury suites, on the top deck,” she said. “There were also two fatalities below decks. Their bodies are locked in the sick bay as we speak.”
“That’s terrible.” I made a pained face, and it wasn’t even an act, because that silver was definitely messing with me. And I was impatient to get away. Who knows what they were doing to Parker?
“One eyewitness said there was a couple at the scene matching a description of you and your wife,” said Burly Guy.
“Yes, we were there, but my wife can’t stand the sight of blood.”
“Where is your wife now, Mr. Cole?”
“Probably in the casino. When she gets a few drinks in her, whew...” I winked at Burly Guy. “You know how women are.”
The female guard slapped her club so hard it had to have bruised her, but she looked like she enjoyed it. “Another eyewitness saw you riding the elevator down from the luxury deck where a Mr. Jemarcus was assaulted.”
I couldn’t come up with a good reason besides “coincidence” and even a rent-a-cop wouldn’t believe three coincidences. And I was too weak to really make a run for it. In my tainted condition, even a lead bullet might do permanent damage. Even worse, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a blood packet, and Slap-A-Club’s neck was looking mighty yummy, her big blue vein throbbing with annoyance.
I decided to rely on my wits, which might not be such a smart move, given how clouded up I was. “Mr. Jemarcus was assaulted? Does that mean he’s alive?”
“We don’t know,” Burly Guy said. “His suite was ransacked, and we discovered several bullet holes in the wall, as well as some blood stains.”
“Blood that looked like that,” Slap-A-Club said. She pointed her billy club at my side. Although my wound was already starting to heal, instant dry cleaning was not among my supernatural healing powers. The splotch was reddish-brown and sort of obvious.
“What if I told you Demande Jemarcus kidnapped me and then attacked me in his suite?”
“So you admit to being there?”
“Depends. What else did you find in his suite?”
“Nothing except two hundred pounds of marijuana, seven pounds of cocaine, 312 amphetamines, twenty-six doses of Ecstasy—”
“Twenty-four,” Burly Cop said, smiling. “Remember?”
“How long does it take for that stuff to take effect anyway?” she said. “Out of scientific curiosity, of course.”
I feigned looking at a wristwatch, since I never wear one. “Just guessing, I’d say ‘Blastoff to Loveland’ is happening in three...two...one...”
Burly Guy giggled like a schoolgirl. His eyes were starting to bug out a little. “You said ‘Loveland.’ That’s funny, man.”
“What are the effects of Ecstasy, anyway?” Slap-A-Club was now rubbing her club against her neck like a kitten against a catnip bag.
I didn’t do drugs—I couldn’t do drugs—but having lived a long time, I’d been around them. I’d been to some Raves and watched the kids dance and hug themselves into exhaustion. I ticked off some effects. “From what I hear, you feel a deep state of euphoria and bliss, empathy for others, and elimination of anxiety.”
All of which sounded like terrible traits for someone in law enforcement. Burly Guy was barely listening. His eyes were closed and he was rocking with the motion of the waves.
I assumed Demande had fled the scene. So I hadn’t killed him for good. Before I left them to follow their bliss, I said, “Any idea where Mr. Jemarcus went? I forgot to give him a souvenir I picked up for him.”
“That’s sooooo sweet of you,” said the woman, rubbing her billy club against her thigh.
I shrugged. “Well, I’d hate for him to miss it. Why don’t you just give me his room key and I can drop it off?”
Burly Guy shook his head, happy as a kid with a kite. “We don’t have room keys. But I’ll let you borrow my master key, how’s that? Opens every door on the ship.”
I plucked it from his hand. “Thanks. I promise I’ll give it back soon.” I winked. “Our little secret.”
He winked back. I hurried down the hall, putting in some distance, when Burly Guy said behind me, “By the way, Candy Layne is singing the Best of the Sixties in the Beachcomber’s Club. And our main concert hall is featuring a magic show. Everyone’s going there. I mean...everyone. Maybe your pal Demarcus is there.” Yes, he slurred the names together with nary a care in the world.
“Maybe,” I said.
He smiled and they both swayed with the ocean, the billy club rubbing rubbing rubbing.
Time to find Parker before those guards came back down to sea level.
Chapter Nineteen
The silver was working its way out of my system.
Vampires don’t do doctors. We sort of auto-correct ourselves. Self-heal. Any silver that doesn’t pierce my heart will eventually be ejected...and sometimes it’s not a pretty sight.
As I headed back up the stairs, I
paused at the railing, gripping it so tightly that the steel crumpled slightly. I panted and grunted—and nearly screamed—as the smallest drop of silver appeared from the wound in my side. I flicked it away before it could do any more damage.
“Jesus H. Christ,” I said, perhaps even ironically.
Seriously, what is the deal with silver? Yes, wood played havoc for me, too. But nothing like silver. Silver was a bitch.
I collected myself, breathing and healing, and when I was finally close to full strength I pushed away from the railing.
Time to find Parker and, thanks to the two lovebirds, I suspected I knew just where to look.
* * *
Now at nearly 100%, I veritably flew up the stairs. In fact, I think I just might have. I’m weird like that.
Screw Demande and that damn nzambi finger. Sweet mother of God, the thought of Parker as one of those mindless, walking dead was too horrific to dwell on for long. So I didn’t. Instead, I threw open the stairwell door and hurled myself down the oddly empty corridor toward the main concert hall. Maybe not so oddly, after all.
In fact, most of the ship seemed to be stampeding to what I suspected was the biggest room the ship had to offer.
A perfect place, I further suspected, for Demande to carry out his horrific plan. A crazy plan, yes. An unlikely plan, yes. But I had seen the finger...and I had seen its effect.
That Demande might have survived the bullet I had hurled at him, a bullet that had plunged deep within him as surely as if it had been fired, did not surprise me. His magicks were unlike anything I had ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff.
Hell, I thought, as I blazed around a couple holding hands who, from behind, looked nearly identical, I’m weird stuff.
I can move fast enough to be a blur, and that’s what I was now. A blur. I sensed people looking up and gasping long after I had passed them by, taking long looks down into their drinks as if maybe they should switch to fruit punch.
I rounded corners, side-stepped slow-moving mortals, and generally displayed superhuman physical abilities that hadn’t been available to me just minutes earlier, back when the silver had poisoned my system.
As I finally closed in on the concert hall, one thing became obvious: Tonight’s magic show was the cruise’s main attraction. A steady stream of cruise guests were filing through glass double doors—doors that were staffed, I saw, by two very large men. Large and familiar. Demande’s goons. They nodded and smiled pleasantly enough, no doubt knowing they were ushering the innocent to their deaths.
Or a kind of death.
I’m kind of dead, too. It’s the nature of creatures like me: The natural must die to allow the supernatural to take over. Except I, of course, kept most of who I was. The nzambis were the opposite. They lost most of who they were. Perhaps all of who they were.
To be taken over by Demande, who now had Parker, wherever they were.
No, I knew where they were.
Somewhere behind those doors. Waiting for as many tourists to file in as possible, where the doors would be sealed shut...and the pleasure trip to the Caribbean would be anything but a pleasure.
It would be a nightmare.
I grabbed a fedora from a nearby souvenir shop, moving so quickly that the merchant never knew he’d just been robbed by a creature of the night. A dashing creature of the night, I might add. That hat was pretty sweet.
I slipped into line with the others, keeping my head down as I passed the two goons, and stepped into the big concert hall.
Show time.
Chapter Twenty
It was standing-room-only inside the big concert hall.
I’m surprised the ship didn’t tilt down until it took on water, there were so many overweight Americans packed like sardines. The sweetly sickening aroma of Aqua Velva and Obsession fought with the stale cigarette smoke from the casino and the old beer that saturated the red carpeting. But all those scents diminished when I caught a whiff of tasty blood.
I balled my fists to avoid temptation. It wouldn’t do to break into a murderous rampage and rip open someone’s throat in front of hundreds of witnesses. Never mind that those witnesses would probably be zombies before the final curtain fell.
I eased to the edge of the crowd, keeping the fedora pulled low. The cruise director came out and introduced the captain, who gave a terribly boring weather report, and then it was time for Skinny Guys Revue, a dancing troupe that twitched and spasmed for about four minutes as the house band kicked out a sax number.
The cruise director came back out and shooed them into the wings. She was a washed-out bottle blonde whose voice cracked as she said, “And now I’d like you to meet a very special guest, and a very dear magician friend. You have to see him to believe him. And, remember, photographs and videos are prohibited. Ladies and gentlemen, Demande Jamarcus!”
My heart nearly gave an extra beat. The crowd had been growing restless, but everyone fell silent as if put under a spell.
Which very well could have happened. Being a vampire, I wouldn’t have noticed.
The curtain parted and a cable holding a big metal hook descended from the hidden catwalk. Dangling on the hook, a dark silhouette curled in upon itself in the midst of a circular spotlight. The band broke into an instrumental of “I’m A Believer.”
The hook reached the floor of the stage and Demande uncoiled like a contortionist. He was wearing a tuxedo and top hat, carrying a dapper little walking stick. I squinted to see what was squirming away on the tip of the stick.
The nzambi finger.
“Greetings, friends,” Demande said in his booming voice. “I am honored by your presence, and I promise, this is one show you don’t want to miss.”
“Free Bird!” yelled some clown in the middle row.
Demande scowled and pointed the stick—and the nzambi finger—at the heckler, who instantly moaned in pain and fell silent.
“Father taught me that it is rude to interrupt,” Demande said, waving the stick back and forth across the audience. “And he also taught me that it’s rude to point.”
I slipped along the wall, keeping to the shadows. The goons at the main entrance had closed the door and I would have bet my fedora that they had locked it. We were all trapped with a psychopathic witch doctor who had big, big plans.
“And now for a little magic show,” Demande boomed. He took off his top hat, turned it upside down, and tapped the stick three times on the brim. He reached inside the hat and pulled out a wet fish, which flopped much like the dancers had.
Suddenly a tentacle snaked out from the hat. The tentacle’s owner must have been a creature far too large for the hat to hold. The crowd let out a pleased gasp and the house band broke into a couple of bars of “Octopus’s Garden.”
I didn’t know whether Demande was a drama queen who loved the spotlight or whether this was all part of some bizarre ritual. But I kept slithering through the crowd, getting closer to the stage. I could have used my hyperspeed but I sensed Demande would pick up the motion. This was a time for stealth.
But then I picked up something of my own: Parker’s thoughts.
And they said, If you don’t let me out of here, I’m going to kill you.
I didn’t know if she was thinking the words at me, or thinking them at Demande. But she was somewhere near, of that I was sure.
Demande used the walking stick to nudge the tentacle back into the hat, then shoved the fish in and put the hat on his head. He stuck the finger in the lapel of his tux jacket, where it hung like a gross and skinny green carnation. “Now for my next trick...”
The spotlight widened and the cruise director pushed out a wooden, coffin-sized box on a wheeled dais. Arms and feet protruded from the box, and a black mask covered the person’s face and mouth. I recognized the pink Chacos before I recognized the ash-blonde hair dangling from the woman’s head.
Parker!
Demande held up a wicked-looking brush saw, its silvery teeth glittering in the spotlight
. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am now going to saw this lovely young cruise guest in half.”
The cruise director clapped her hands together and drew some laughter with, “She might be eligible for our half-off specials!”
Demande held the end of the saw with one hand. He banged the middle of the saw with his thumb and then warped the metal blade so that it made a musical twang. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he said.
The crowd didn’t respond so Demande glared at the whole room. “Don’t make me give you the finger.”
The crowd politely applauded.
It’s like they’re already zombies, I thought. I was nearly to the front of the audience now, even though I was on the left wing near the band. The spotlight dramatically narrowed on Demande again, and I stepped up to the bass player, who was hidden behind the drum kit. I gave him a love tap on the skull and smoothly swiped his bass guitar as he fell.
Demande swirled around with a flourish and laid the saw’s teeth against the top of the box.
The drummer, from somewhere in the darkness, whispered to the band, “Everybody on four, ‘The First Cut is the Deepest.’” He tapped his drumsticks together to mark off the time. I plucked a string at random and luckily the sax blasted a note to cover me. By then I was practically on the stage, although still cloaked by the darkness.
Demande stroked the saw back and forth a few times, sawdust swirling up in the circle of the spotlight. Parker twisted her head back and forth but whatever screams she was making were muffled by a gag.
At least as far as the audience was concerned. But I had a direct line.
Spider, if you don’t make your move right now...
Hush, I shot back. I’ve always wanted to be in a rock band.
If I die, I’ll never speak to you again.
I’m more worried about you UNDYING. So what’s his plan?