Midnight Shadows

by Nancy Gideon

  "Okay, Americano, let's take your tour. It'll be a short one."

  The guide rolled awkwardly off the bar stool onto his good leg, then hobbled toward the exterior door. He moved quickly despite his ungainly stride, and as they stepped out into the night, Cobb ventured, “Mind if I ask you what happened to your leg?"

  "Nothing dramatic. I tell the tourists I was bitten by a caiman.” His laugh mocked their gullibility. “Actually, I was born with it. If my family had had money, or if we'd lived in your fancy America, it could have been corrected by operations, but...” He shrugged eloquently. “I make do."

  "You seem to do very well."

  "Can't complain. The money's good and the pickings are easy. It was right up there, Mr. Cobb, where the walkway branches off."

  Cobb preceded him down the planked walk, heading farther from the light of the Lodge and the soft, rhythmic music in the bar. In the silence, Frank listened to another beat: the step-drag of Joaquin Cross's footsteps as he followed behind him. He scanned the dark walk and the dense shrubbery.

  "Is this where you found her?"

  "Pretty close."

  "It's secluded here. I'm surprised she didn't see it coming."

  "They never do."

  The warning shift wasn't in Joaquin Cross's tone, it was in his walk. From shuffling step drag to a pair of very solid footsteps.

  And this time, Frank was ready. He pivoted, swinging with all his might to drive the spike he held deep into the guide's chest.

  Caught by off guard, Cross had only enough time to shift his weight so that the sharp point pierced beneath his collarbone rather than through his heart. He let out a roar of pain and surprise as he stumbled back. He grabbed for the silver stake, howling as contact with the precious metal caused his flesh to smoke and sear. As he jerked it from his body, the illusion rippled like water, then faltered and failed.

  The crippled Indian, Joaquin Cross became the handsome vampire, Quinton Alexander. A stunned and wounded Alexander. A vulnerable target. As Cobb bent to retrieve the silver stake, he reeled away in an attempt to escape his nemesis.

  Cobb raced after the injured creature. He wasn't thinking about capture or his obligations to Harper. The need to put an end to this evil consumed him. The image of Alexander with his hand about Stacy Kimball's throat spurred him on. The sound of her weeping over her slain friend roared over any other considerations. The glitter of that tiny ankle bracelet set obscenely near Sheba's pillow blinded him to all else.

  There was no way a monster like Alexander would survive another second if he had anything to do with it. Harper be damned. His career would be shot to hell, but that no longer mattered. Evil spawned evil, and if Harper got their hands on even a portion of what Alexander was, the potential was staggering. Stacy had been right about that; Sheba, too. He would dispose of Alexander then deal with Lemos before he became an equal threat.

  Alexander headed for the observation tower. Unhampered by his pretended handicap, he took the steps in great preternatural leaps, slowed only by the crippling effects of the silver coursing through his system. That was Cobb's only chance of catching up to him, that and the hope that he would get another opportunity to drive home his vengeance—right through Alexander's black heart.

  If he only had his pistol, he could have ended it without all the effort. But when he'd gone to get it, it was missing from his drawer. He had no opportunity to wonder who had pilfered it or why. He'd just make do with the weapon at hand. It could kill Alexander just as dead, and that was all that mattered.

  By the seventh story, Cobb was wheezing. By the ninth, his lungs were on fire.

  That's it. No more cigarettes for me.

  He rounded the final turn of steps. Alexander stood on the platform, backed up against the rail. His features twisted into a hideous snarl of rage and pain that bared his unnatural fangs. His eyes glowed blood red. Cobb slowed, not underestimating the danger. Wounded didn't mean helpless. Trapped didn't mean caught.

  "How did you know, mortal?” the vampire hissed.

  "I know you, Alexander. Your vanity is your downfall. I knew you had to be close to admire your handiwork. Your habit for working the graveyard shift gave you away."

  Alexander squinted. “Not even you are that good."

  "Your forehead."

  "What?"

  "I noticed it before but thought it was just a birthmark. But it's not, is it? It's a burn. From this.” He drew out Stacy Kimball's crucifix. “She put that mark on your forehead when you tried to kill us in her apartment."

  The arrogant vampire put fingertips to the fading spot he combed his hair to cover. A spot shaped like a cross. “I'll remember that next time."

  "There won't be a next time."

  A vicious chuckled rattled from the creature. “And you're going to stop me, Cobb? Aren't you forgetting something? Or should I say someone?"

  For the first time, Cobb paused in his headlong rush for revenge.

  "Ah,” Alexander gloated. “I see you have. Vanity, Cobb. I'm not the only one who suffers from that affliction. While you're here seeking to wipe the stains from your reputation, who's watching over your little lady friend?"

  And Alexander watched with an unholy amusement as a sickening realization dawned.

  "You thought I was the only danger to her? Once again, mortal fool, you were wrong. In her case, mine was not the prior claim."

  "Then I guess I'd better put a quick end to you so I can get back to her."

  "You're too late, my friend. Too late."

  "Don't count on it, blood sucker. Punctuality is my favorite virtue."

  And with that, Cobb attacked, flipping the silver stake from a jabbing to an overhanded stabbing position as he rushed the startled vampire.

  Believing his charge to be one of imprudence rather than purpose, Alexander tried to sidestep him, but Cobb anticipated the move, feigning to the left as well. Furious at being outmaneuvered, Alexander's thoughts went to fight instead of flight. A blow to his forearm by one mighty swipe from Alexander numbed Cobb's hand as his attack was flung off. The silver stake winked in the moonlight as it twirled end over end and disappeared into the night over the tower rail.

  Eager to put an end to the game, Alexander grabbed for Cobb's throat, only to scream in fiery injury as he came in contact with Stacy Kimball's gift. Staring at his smoking palm, he cursed the power of the small silver cross and Cobb's ingenuity. Pain and frustration took the fun out of the confrontation. This puny mortal had gotten in his way for the last time.

  "I am tired of playing with you, Cobb. You bore me."

  And that said, he seized Frank by the upper arms and flung him bodily off the top of the tower.

  But he hadn't counted upon Cobb getting a grip on his shirt front first.

  They both went over the rail.

  For an instant, time seemed suspended. Then the rapid downward plummet began. As vines and branches whipped past his face, Cobb frantically grabbed for a single saving purchase. He found and hung onto Alexander's ankle and, miraculously, his fall jerked up short. Penduluming wildly, he looked up to be stunned by the sight of Alexander hovering in midair. But he only had a moment to marvel as Alexander raised his other foot.

  "I don't allow hitchhikers, Cobb."

  The sole of his boot took Frank full in the face, shocking him into releasing his grip. He plunged several stories before winding his forearm about a clinging vine to halt his fall once more. While he scrambled desperately to find a solid hand or foot hold, the vine ripped away from the tower structure.

  Then, there was nothing to stop his six story free fall to the ground.

  He hit, the impact shattering through him. As vision haloed and wavered, he got a glimpse of Alexander's mocking features, then all went black. And through that endless void that led to death, a single thought delayed him.

  Who would save Sheba?

  "Mr. Cobb, stay still."

  Samuels?

  Frank tried to speak, but his mouth was
filled with blood as his crushed ribs refused to allow his punctured lungs to fill. He opened his eyes to see the distraught older man bending over him. He could see his own mortality in the saddened stare.

  Dammit, he couldn't die and leave Sheba alone. He'd promised.

  Movement woke all sorts of hell through a body broken beyond repair. He managed to manipulate his hand so that it fell atop his open jacket. His fingertips brushed the metal case he carried. Seeing his intent, Samuels drew out the container then stared at the two vials in bewilderment. Frank withdrew one of them, nearly dropping it from rapidly numbing fingers.

  "Inject me,” he whispered. His words gurgled as he choked on fluid and lack of air.

  Acting quickly and without questioning, Samuels filled the enclosed syringe with the dark liquid from the vial. He shoved up Cobb's sleeve and plunged the needle into a vein even as life ebbed from his grasp. And, empty syringe in hand, he waited and watched for some miracle to occur. For it would take at least that to restore a semblance of life to the broken form before him.

  It started as a burning at his elbow, a pain keener and more centered than the agony of having his skeletal structure smashed into hundreds of puncturing pieces. It spread slowly because his heart had begun to labor and falter, moving Stacy Kimball's serum through his system at a maddeningly slow pace. But it was moving, streaking up his arm like fire, spreading into his chest upon tingling threads that reached out to battered and ruptured organs, supporting and rebuilding caved in ribs until his first decent breath pulled in life and hope in a ragged gasp.

  His first faint words puzzled Samuels.

  "Thanks, Doc. Now we're even."

  The serum created by Stacy Kimball from the same vampiric elements that had made her lover an immortal, had cured her cancer and now repaired in him what went well beyond simple healing. With every beat of his heart, his strength increased and his senses sharpened. He knew ... he just knew that Alexander was gone. And that left his thoughts clear to turn to another.

  "Sheba.” He sat up without even the slightest residue of pain. Samuels was gawking at him, dumfounded. “Sheba. Where is she?"

  "I thought you'd know. I came looking for her when I heard the commotion overhead and saw you ... fall. What the hell was that up there with you? Was it a man? It looked as though he was ... flying."

  Poor Peyton. He really hadn't a clue.

  "I have to find her. She's in danger."

  But if not from Alexander, then from whom?

  He headed for the Lodge at a run. Amazingly, there was no restrictive tightness in his chest from years of abusing nicotine. His breaths came full and easy even when his pulse began to race. The wonder of it paled next to his worry over Sheba. What if something really had happened to her while he was absorbed with the need for his own revenge?

  The kitchen was dark and smelled of pungent spices ... and of something darker. A scent he recognized even before he saw the guard sprawled out upon the newly patterned tiles.

  He didn't need to look inside the freezer to know that it would be empty.

  Paulo Lemos had woken up hungry.

  And now he was after Sheba.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Paulo Lemos stood before her, looking much like she'd last seen him. His skin was grey. His lips and lashes wore a thin crusting of ice. The ragged wound at his neck seemed shriveled and old. And his eyes, his eyes burned with unnatural fire from out of that frozen shell. His eyes were alive, but they didn't belong to the Paulo she'd loved since childhood. That Paulo was gone, killed by a fiend and now become one himself.

  Monsters were real, and if she was going to escape this one, she had to act fast.

  The gun with its silver bullets. All she had to do was point and shoot.

  She lifted it with determination. It was not Paulo, she reminded herself. Paulo was dead. This was some unholy form using his body, staining his memory. Still, looking upon those beloved and well-remembered features gave her just an instant of hesitation. And that was all the time the ghoul needed.

  He sprang.

  Sheba pulled the trigger, but a swat of his hand to her forearm sent the bullet flying wide and the gun sailing in an impotent arc. He was fast, so fast. Sheba dropped and rolled, coming up to her feet next to the bed. Diving beneath the mosquito netting, she scrambled across the mattress, watching the flicker of his shadow through the filmy curtain. An involuntary cry escaped her as a powerful hand gripped her ankle and began dragging her, belly down, toward the bottom of the bed. His hand was cold, as cold as death. Wriggling wildly to free herself, she clawed up the covers and kicked at her unseen attacker.

  And then, the loud crack of a pistol shot rent the night air.

  Sheba screamed and broke loose as the thing that had once been Paulo fell forward into the netting. It shrouded his form in a gauzy wrap as he toppled onto the bed, tearing the curtains down around him.

  Panting hard, Sheba looked up to see her unlikely savior. Rosa Kelly's bulk filled the door frame. She held Cobb's pistol in her hand. Her features were grim.

  "We must go. Hurry."

  Sheba skirted the motionless figure. “Go where?"

  "To a place of safety. It's Sam, Sheba. It's been Sam all along. We've got to get out of here before he discovers that we've killed his creature and are on to his tricks."

  "Uncle Peyton? I don't believe it!"

  "Don't believe it. Stay here and be as dead as your boyfriend there. Or come with me and help me defeat him. Decide now, or I'm leaving without you."

  "But Frank—"

  "Is dead."

  That stopped her like one of the silver bullets. Everything that was living and breathing inside her shuddered to a stop. “No."

  "Samuels killed him. He figured it out, smart boy. But he wasn't smart enough to save himself. Would he want you to stay here and die or to live to fight another day? Sheba, he must have heard the shots. There's no time for tears now. We have to go. Now!"

  She couldn't help Paulo. She couldn't help Frank. She could only survive.

  So she ran into the jungle with Rosa Kelly.

  * * * *

  A sick sensation spread through Frank's gut as he stood at the threshold of Sheba's room. Paulo was destroyed and Sheba was gone. No blood trail, no signs that she'd been injured. But where the hell was she?

  He voiced that question to the man behind him.

  "She's with Rosa,” he answered glumly.

  "And where would they go?” He grabbed the dazed entrepreneur's shoulders and shook him out of his stupor. “Where would they go?"

  "To where this whole nightmare started. To the temple. Sheba has the key, and Rosa's been waiting twenty years to get to the treasure inside."

  "Rosa? I thought she was an environmental activist."

  "She's a thief. We both were. We were using the Reynards and their contacts in the States to smuggle artifacts out of Peru. It was a great game while it lasted."

  "What happened to Sheba's parents?"

  "I don't know. Honest to God, I don't know. When my Cipriana died, I put my illegal ways behind me. It's what she had wanted while she was alive and the least I could do for her memory. Memory..What does Sheba remember?"

  "Nothing. Not yet. It was a trap, and now she's caught in it."

  Because he wasn't there to protect her.

  Samuels wasn't through with his mournful confession. “I should have told her ... about me and Rosa. I kept silent because I'm a coward. I didn't want her to be disappointed in me. She and Paulo were my only family. Are you going to tell her?"

  "I'm not the morality police. What you did in the past isn't my business. Finding Sheba safe and sound is."

  "You're in love with her.” The statement voiced both surprise and, surprisingly enough, approval.

  "Yeah."

  Not exactly an overwhelming admission, but he felt it warm all the way through him with a power not unlike Stacy Kimball's serum. It left him feeling stronger. He had to tell her. With all the sec
rets he'd kept during his lifetime, this was one he needed to share. If he had the chance.

  With a last look about the room and at the creature left behind, Cobb let his chill professionalism control his head and block the panic seeping in to fill his heart.

  "Take me to that temple. I have a feeling we'll get all our answers there."

  * * * *

  It was all so familiar.

  The jungle. The darkness. The scent of decay and dampness and that other scent, the sweet, cloying smell she couldn't quite place.

  For a large woman, Rosa moved with amazing agility. Sheba was pressed to keep up, dodging fallen limbs and evading ankle-twisting vines. The big lantern Rosa carried flooded the path before them, while shadows crowded close on all other sides.

  Tears blurred her vision, making Rosa's figure and the light on the forest floor waver in uncertainty. Sheba tried to hold in the anguish, the all-encompassing sense of loss. Frank ... Paulo. Peyton Samuels. But mostly Frank. What difference did knowing the truth make if there was no one left with whom to share the rest of her life?

  Knowing the truth wouldn't alter what had happened, and it shouldn't have made such an impact on the way she'd chosen to live. She knew that now with a twenty-twenty hindsight. She'd thrown away her past, her future, dwelling on what she couldn't change instead of changing what she could while it mattered. Frank Cobb had mattered. So had Paulo, and her relationship with her uncle. But only her feelings for Frank had been real. Paulo and Peyton had been immortalized slices of memories she could no longer rely upon.

  She had no past and no more future. The truth was all that was left her.

  She stumbled, falling hard to hands and knees upon the springy ground. A sound echoed in her ears. Breathing, harsh and labored and right behind her. She looked over her shoulder, but there was nothing there but unrelieved darkness. No one was following except the phantoms of her past. Something had been chasing her on that night twenty years ago. Someone. Those same sensations pushed in all around her—the sounds, the scents, the crawly panic and choking terror even now clawing at her throat. The same as in her dream.

  The same as in her dreamquest.