"A vampire bite," Lucas said.
Cassandra nodded. "That would be my interpretation as well."
I bit back the urge to scream, "And when the hell were you going to say so?"
Lucas turned into our hotel parking lot. "The only problem with that scenario is that. I can't imagine what grudge a vampire could possibly bear against a Cabal."
"I'm sure you couldn't," Cassandra murmured.
Lucas's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror. "No, Cassandra, I can't. But if you can, perhaps you could tell us."
For a moment, she said nothing. Then she sighed, as if put upon once again to explain the obvious.
"Cabals will have nothing to do with vampires," she said.
"Precisely," Lucas said. "They have a strict policy against dealing with either werewolves or vampires, which is why I can't imagine…" He stopped, then looked through the mirror at Cassandra. "Or, perhaps, that is not so much the argument against such a possibility as for it."
"For money and power, the Cabals are the biggest game in town," I said. "Maybe someone's tired of being kept off the playing field."
Stand-in Mother-in-law
We returned to our hotel room. Jaime heard us come in and zipped over for an update.
"So my spook wasn't trying to get you to contact Cassandra," Jaime said, popping the top off a Diet Pepsi. "It just wanted to tell us that we're looking for a vampire."
"Probably," I said. "Salem's Lot is about vampires, and Cassandra would be the vampire I know best. So that fits the theory. This does change the possible motivation, though. It doesn't take nearly as much to send a vamp on a killing spree. They're already expert killers-it's not as big a deal for them. I'd say we now have two more likely motivations. One, a vampire tried signing up with the Cabals or cutting a deal with them, got rebuffed, and decided to show them why you don't mess with the undead. Two, a vampire is just pissed off in general at the Cabal no-vampire policy and is making a statement."
"A crusading vampire?" Jaime said. "The only vamps I've ever met aren't exactly the altruistic type." She glanced at Cassandra. "Exhibit one."
Cassandra gave her a cool stare. "Ah, yes. And remind me again why you're here? More to do with a nagging spirit than a nagging conscience, if I recall correctly."
Jaime flushed. "Well, I've solved that problem and I'm still here, aren't I?"
"So your ghost is still being quiet?" I asked.
"So far, so good."
"Cassandra," Lucas said. "If we are dealing with a vampire, then this is your area of expertise. Given Paige's two possible motivations, should we consider both equally or concentrate on a revenge scenario?"
"Vampires are capable of crusading for a cause," she said, easing onto the sofa. "Though typically only one that benefits vampires, as this one would. You'd be looking for a young vampire. As with any race, the youngest are the most idealistic, the most likely to work for change. The older ones know their energies are better spent pursuing more realistic, individualistic causes." She slanted a look at Lucas and me. "You'll learn that soon enough."
"Not if I can help it," I murmured.
"The pursuit of righteousness is romantic, immature, and, ultimately, self-destructive, Paige. One would think you'd have learned that lesson this spring with Samantha."
"Savannah," I said. "And the only thing I learned was that the purest form of evil isn't something like a Cabal. It's the person who's willing to sacrifice another to save herself."
Jaime's gaze followed our exchange with interest. Before she could comment, Lucas spoke.
"So, having decided that both avenues are equally likely, may I suggest we pursue both? The fact that we are likely now dealing with a vampire explains why none of my contacts heard of such a situation, since vampires have little contact with other supernaturals. That means I'll have to go directly to the Cabals for information or, more accurately, through my father, who can ask about specific instances where a vampire may have had Cabal contact. Meanwhile, perhaps Cassandra could help Paige contact the vampire community, assess the general mood and any Cabal-related rumors."
"I don't believe I offered to help," Cassandra said. "This isn't my problem."
"No?" Jaime said. "Isn't that why you serve on the interracial council? So if a vamp goes rogue, you can take him out? Every race does it, monitors their own. We have to."
"This isn't the same. You're asking me to betray my own. To sneak Paige into their midst and gather information to be used against us."
"No," I said. "We're asking you to sneak me in to gather info that can be used to help you-all of you. Cabals don't like vamps now. How do you think they're going to react when they find out it's a vampire who has been killing their kids?"
"I'm not concerned about retaliation."
"Good. Then you can go home, Cassandra. I can get what Lucas wants without you."
Cassandra's lips curved as she reclined against the cushions. "You need to work on your bluffing, Paige. Your technique is far too obvious."
I grabbed my purse and headed for the bedroom.
"It won't work, Paige," Cassandra called after me. "Your only other vampire contact is Lawrence and he's been in Europe for two years. You'll be lucky if he remembers your name. He certainly won't rush back here to help you."
As my fingers grazed the bedroom door handle, I stopped. I knew I should take the high road, phone my contact, and ignore her taunts. But I couldn't, not with Cassandra. I flipped open my Palm, clicked on my phone book, found an entry, strode back, and held it up for Cassandra.
She read it and blinked. And, in that small reaction, I took more pleasure than I liked to admit.
"Aaron?" she said. "When did he give you-"
"After we rescued him from the compound. He told Jeremy and me that anytime we needed something vampire-related, we could call him."
"Jeremy might not appreciate your calling in a joint favor that doesn't benefit werewolves."
"Which is why I'll phone him first. But we both know he'll tell me to go ahead."
"Werewolves rescuing vampires?" Jaime murmured. "Someday, you have got to tell me this story. Well, Cass, looks like she's trumped you. Time to lay down your cards and go home."
"Is she here for a reason?" Cassandra said.
"I don't want to bicker with you, Cassandra," I said. "I appreciate what you did this morning, helping us hunt for Stephen, but please, go on home. We can handle this."
As my tone softened, the fire leached from her eyes. She sighed and reached for my Palm.
"Let me call Aaron," she said. "Save your marker for another time."
I hesitated. "Maybe that's not such a good idea. Unless I seriously misread things, Aaron seemed pretty miffed with you back at the compound."
"It was a misunderstanding."
"The last time he saw you, you turned him over to an angry Romanian mob and fled for your life. Call me crazy, but I don't think there's much wiggle room for misunderstanding there."
Across the room, Jaime snorted a laugh. Cassandra glared at her, then turned back to me.
"I didn't hand him over to the mob," she said. "I simply left him there. I knew he could handle himself. Anyway, none of that matters now. We're back on good terms."
"Such good terms that you don't have his phone number?"
She plucked the Palm from my hand, marched into the bedroom, and closed the door.
***
Two hours later I was boarding a plane for Atlanta, to meet with Aaron. Unfortunately, I was not alone, having been unable to convince Cassandra that she had better things to do. I tried to be gracious by saying I'd understand if she preferred to fly first class. My kindness, though, only provoked a similar outpouring of generosity, and she treated me to a first-class seat next to hers.
I'd brought my laptop and, as soon as we were seated, set to work catching up on my business e-mail. Cassandra stayed quiet until the plane lifted off.
"I hear from Kenneth that you're trying to start a new Coven," she
began.
"Not really," I mumbled, and typed faster.
"Well, that's good."
I stopped, fingers poised above the keyboard. Then, with great effort, I forced them back to the keys and resumed typing. Do not rise to the bait. Do not rise-
"I told him I couldn't imagine you'd do anything so foolish."
Type faster. Harder. Do not stop.
"I can understand why you'd want to. It must be very hard on your ego. Getting kicked out of your Coven. And as Leader, no less."
I willed my fingers back to the keyboard, but they ignored my brain's command, and kept clenching into fists instead.
"I suppose it was very satisfying for you, those few months as Coven Leader. You'd obviously want to recapture that sense of importance."
"It was never about being important. I just wanted to-"
I stopped and resumed typing.
"You just wanted to do what, Paige?"
The flight attendant stopped by. I ordered a coffee. Cassandra took wine.
"You wanted to do what, Paige?" Cassandra repeated when the server was gone.
I turned to look at her. "Don't needle me. You always do this. You're like one of those sitcom mothers-in-law, poking and prodding, feigning interest, but only looking for a soft spot, someplace to sneak in an insinuation, an insult."
"Isn't it possible that I'm not feigning interest? That I really do want to know more about you?"
"You've never been interested in me before."
"You've never been interesting before. But you're finally growing up, and I don't just mean getting older. In the last year or so, you've matured into an intriguing individual. Not necessarily someone I'd choose to be stranded on a desert island with, but conflict of opinion can make for more interesting relationships than common interests. If I challenge your opinions, it's because I'm curious to hear how you defend them."
"I don't want to defend them," I said. "Not now. Your questions feel like insults, Cassandra, and I don't want to deal with them."
To my surprise, she didn't say another word. Just sipped her wine, reclined her seat, and rested for the remainder of the flight.
Disconnected
Vampires are a race of city dwellers. That may seem obvious, since it's far easier to kill undetected in a city with hundreds of annual unsolved murders, rather than in a small town that might see a single homicide a year. In truth, though, that's not a major factor in their choice.
Real vampires aren't the marauding bloodsuckers you see on late-night TV, racking up a dozen victims every night. A real vampire only needs to kill once a year, though they must feed more often than that. Feeding is easy enough-if you ever pass out in a bar and wake up the next morning with a hangover that seems worse than normal, I'd suggest you check your neck. You may not find the marks, though. Unless you know what you're looking for, vampire bites are nearly impossible to see, and the aftereffects are no more debilitating than donating blood on an empty stomach.
Since a vampire bite is rarely fatal, it would be easy enough for vamps to live outside the city and commute for their annual kill. It might even be safer. The problem is that pesky semi-immortality. When you don't age, people notice. It may take a while, but they eventually start to ask what brand of moisturizer you're using. The smaller the town, the more people pay attention, and the more they talk. In a big city, a vampire could stay in one spot for fifteen to twenty years, and never hear more than a few snide Botox comments. Plus, there's the whole boredom issue. Small towns are great for raising a family, but if you're single and childless, Saturday nights on the front porch swing get a little dull after the first hundred years.
So, vampires like the city life. In North America, they also prefer the sunshine belt, with over half of the continent's vampires living below the Mason-Dixon line. Northern winters probably lose their appeal pretty quickly when you realize you could lie on the beach all day and never risk so much as a sunburn. And it's much easier to bite someone in a tank top than to gnaw through a parka.
***
Cassandra had arranged to meet Aaron in a bar on the south side of Atlanta. I'd never been to Atlanta, and our quick taxi ride from the airport to the bar didn't provide much opportunity for sightseeing. What I noticed most was how modern it was. It looked, well, it looked like a northern city, very high-tech, very efficient, very un-southern. I'd expected something like Savannah or Charleston, but I saw little that reminded me of either. I suppose if I'd considered my history first, I'd have known better than to expect much Old South in Atlanta. General Sherman took care of that.
The taxi drove us to a neighborhood best described as working-class, with row houses, postage-stamp-size lawns, and streets lined with ten-year-old cars. The driver pulled up in front of a bar sandwiched between an auto-supply store and a Laundromat. The sign on the door read LUCKY PETE'S BILLIARDS, but the BILLIARDS part had recently been stroked out.
Cassandra paid the driver, stepped from the car, looked at the bar, and shook her head. "Aaron, Aaron. Two hundred years old and you still haven't developed an iota of taste."
"Seems fine to me. Hey, look, the sign says Fridays are Ladies' Night. Cheap beer after four. Is it past four?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
I spotted Aaron on my first survey of the bar. I would say, with some certainty, most women would spot Aaron on their first survey of any bar. He's at least six feet two, broad-shouldered, and tanned, with sandy blond hair and a ruggedly handsome face. Aaron sat at the end of the bar, engrossed in a beer and a cigarette, and ignoring the glances of a secretarial quartet behind him. As Cassandra approached, she took in his muddy work boots, worn jeans, and mortar-dust-coated T-shirt.
"How nice of you to dress up for me, Aaron," she said.
"I just got off work. You're damned lucky I even agreed-" He saw me and blinked
"This is-" Cassandra began.
"Paige," Aaron said. "How're you doing?"
"Good." I slid onto the stool beside his. "How have you been?"
"Keeping out of trouble." A quick grin. "Mostly. And watching my back a little better. Still damn embarrassing, getting kidnapped like that. Beer?"
"Please."
He motioned to the bartender. "I won't ask you, Cass. There's nothing here you'd touch. Probably not even the patrons. Are you going to pull up a stool or just stand there?"
"This hardly seems the place for a private conversation," she said, then wheeled and headed for a booth near the back.
Aaron shook his head. I ordered my beer and he took a refill on his. As he pushed aside his empty glass, he noticed his cigarette in the ashtray and stubbed it out.
"It's not enough that I'm a vampire, I gotta kill people with secondhand smoke, too." He pushed the ashtray up beside the empty beer glass. "I heard a rumor about you hooking up with the Cortez boy. That true?"
I nodded, took my beer from the bartender, and laid down a five. Aaron waved it back and exchanged his fresh beer for a ten, with a murmured "no change."
"Thanks," I said.
"I owe you more than a cheap beer. Now, this Cortez, it's Lucas, right? The youngest? Doesn't work for the family?"
"That's right."
"Well, that's good, because someone was trying to tell me it was the next older one. You don't wanna get mixed up with those Cabal guys. But, now, Cassandra said she wanted to talk about a Cabal situation, and since you're here, I'm assuming you're involved. But if you're with Lucas, and he doesn't work for the Cabals…"
"Let's go sit with Cassandra and I'll explain."
***
I told Aaron the story. When I finished, he leaned back and shook his head.
"Fucking unbelievable. We need that kinda trouble like we need a stake through the heart. You find this loser, you make sure the Cabals know the rest of us had nothing to do with it." He took a gulp of beer. "I guess you want to know whether I have any idea who might be behind it. I'm also guessing you've already checked out John and his gang."
"John?
" I said.
"John, Hans, whatever he's calling himself today. You know who I mean, Cass."
"Oh," Cassandra said, lip curling. "Him."
"Well, you've told Paige about him, right? His little anti-Cabal crusade?"
My head snapped up. "Anti-Cabal crusade?"
She frowned. "When did he start this?"
"Oh, only about a decade or so ago."
"This is the first I've heard of it."
Aaron shook his head. "No, it's just the first time you've heard it and paid attention."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Aaron turned to me. "Guy's name is John, but he calls himself Hans; thinks 'John' isn't a proper name for a vampire. He's one of the New Orleans vamps."
"Oh."
Aaron grinned. "That explains everything, doesn't it? John's got this burr about Cabals. It goes with the whole mentality of those guys. They're vampires, so they're 'special' and they should rule the frigging supernatural world. If it wasn't for that damned writer… It's gone straight to their heads. I wouldn't be surprised if they were behind this."
"Any idea where we can find them?" I asked.
"I can get John's address but it might take a day or two. He's not exactly on my Christmas card list. But if you're in a hurry, his posse hangs out at the Rampart in New Orleans." He looked at Cassandra. "But you check it out for her, Cass. Don't be taking Paige in there."
"Vamps only?" I said.
"Nah, just not a very nice place. I'll put out some feelers, too, see if I can pick up any rumors."
I pulled out my notepad to give him my number.
"Hold on," he said, and took out his cell phone. "Safer this way. Every damned piece of paper I stuff into my pockets winds up in the washing machine. I can tell you where I was when I heard Lincoln had been shot, but do you think I can ever remember to empty my pockets before doing laundry? Not a chance."
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