“Not to control them. We are evolving, too. Or at least we can, given the chance.”
Jess frowned. Her understanding of vampires made it impossible for her to comprehend this statement. She’d always found vampires to be unfeeling killing machines. At least that’s how they were in New York.
“How many vampires are willing to stay within the Pact?” Britt asked.
“Not enough to force any sort of change,” Vlad said. “And, not nearly enough to combat the olde ones, or the Ancient if they wish to go against us. Humanity will suffer if that happens, and we don’t have enough numbers to maintain the status quo.”
“Who is this Ancient?” Britt asked.
“Not someone I’ve ever met,” Vlad said, his jaw tightening. “Not someone I ever want to meet. His abilities are deadly, and if he wanted to kill me, he’d do so without any fear that I’d be able to fight back.”
“We can’t fight a shadow,” Jess said.
Vlad’s eyebrows went up. “Technically, that’s not true—you’re adept at fighting shadows. But you are correct in that you can’t fight the Ancient, period. He’s too powerful.”
“Please don’t mention any of our discussion to your Neo group until we know if we have the help we’re looking for,” Jess said.
“And, if you’re talking to Calmet again, please convince him to join us,” Vlad said. “If he’s hiding in plain sight in Paris, and if he’s willing to go against the Ancient, we need him.”
Jess cleared her throat. “I overheard you talking about Morana in your office that time I broke in.” She didn’t feel the least bit bad about admitting her infraction to him. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
“Her father is insisting we take her into the Neo Order and make her one of the leaders. What she and her father don’t realize is that their plans go against everything we stand for. They want to install vampires in every important office in the country, to work our way in until our control is permanent. If their plan succeeds, humans wouldn’t even know what was happening until it was too late.”
Vlad pursed his lips. “Good thing some of us appreciate our human counterparts, and are happy to continue with our lives as they are. We’re mostly old enough to remember the pitchforks and stakes. We want to survive without fear. We’re not about to rip apart the current Pact since it works well for most of us. The last thing we need is for Morana and Sinclair to get caught up in this with their own agenda.”
“You know Sinclair Longina? I thought he was reclusive?” Britt said.
Vlad nodded. “Not reclusive enough for my liking. He’s always weaseling his way into things he shouldn’t. And no one can know about the Neo Order’s real agenda. Not Morana, not Sinclair Longina. Not the olde ones.”
“Don’t worry,” Britt said. “We understand.”
Vlad made at attempt at a smile, thereby showing his elongated eyeteeth. “Good. The Neo Order is gathering vampires into the fold, but not fast enough. There are several factions, and since we need to maintain complete secrecy, the heads of each faction meet in my basement’s safe room, hoping the Ancient doesn’t learn about it. That way we can work together to find a way to combat him, especially if he decides to wage war against humankind and the more enlightened vampires.”
“That’s why you use the soap factory,” Jess said. “The older vampires have much more profound olfactory senses. There’s no way they’d be able to enter that facility and spy on you.”
“Exactly. There are benefits to being a younger vampire.”
“Maybe we should have just asked Veronique long ago, instead of wondering what she was up to,” Britt said.
“It wouldn’t have done you any good. She’s been sworn to secrecy, as am I. Even though I am breaking a solemn oath right now, I believe you are both worthy of my trust,” Vlad said.
Jess shared a glance with Britt. “We will keep your secret, as I hope you will keep ours about Calmet.”
“Obviously,” he said, holding his hand out to shake Jess’s before turning and shaking Britt’s hand. “I’ll go directly to the Prefecture to talk to your brother and friend. I’ll have them released on bail as quickly as possible.”
“Thank you,” Jess said.
“There’s one more thing,” Vlad said. “I might need you to help me with the investigation. We’ll have to prove they were innocent bystanders. Unfortunately, that won’t be easy. The evidence will have been very proficiently tampered with by now, if the Ancient is sticking to his usual tricks.”
“I don’t understand.” Jess said.
“By the time we go to court, information will be fabricated to protect the vampire who actually stole the painting. It’ll be as if he never existed and only Regent and Sampson were there.”
“My head is swimming. Will Regent and Sampson be okay?” Jess asked.
He still looked troubled. “I’ll do whatever I can. But since the police department takeover, we can’t be sure what might happen. They might pretend to carry on with business as usual, and then again, maybe not.” He instantly pulled his cell from his pocket and called the Prefecture, announced himself and his legal status, and asked to speak to Regent Vandermire.
Jess didn’t like it when she saw him frown into the phone. He began speaking in French so rapid, she couldn’t follow it.
When he hung up the phone, her gut hollowed out at the expression on his face. “Your brother and his friend aren’t there. They haven’t been arrested . . . or even found, apparently.”
Chapter Seventeen
REGENT’S HEAD HURT, and the back of his throat felt like desert sand. He opened his eyes and blinked several times against the dark. “Where am I?” he said aloud.
“Regent! Thank God you’re alive,” Sampson said from somewhere nearby. Regent couldn’t see him in the pitch dark.
“Why did you think I was dead? And where are we, Sampson?”
Sampson coughed a couple of times. “We’re in some sort of ancient dungeon. We were drugged on the way here, wherever here is. You slept so long, I was afraid they’d given you too much.”
The scent of mold and dampness filled Regent’s nostrils. He tried to move but iron shackles bit into his ankles and wrists. Feeling the dampness underneath him with his hands, he could only guess that he was sitting on slimy flat stones.
“Are we still in Paris?” he asked.
Sampson was silent for too long. “I . . . I’m not sure.”
“Why is this happening?” Not only had his voice echoed in this chamber but there were unnerving scurrying sounds nearby. That didn’t appeal to him, either. He hated to think what kinds of rodents and snakes might be down here.
“Maybe we’re being held for ransom. Otherwise, why didn’t they kill us? And why kidnap us from the Louvre?” Regent sucked in a breath and his lungs burned, while an acrid taste stung the back of his throat.
“I don’t think we’ve been put down here to wait for ransom.”
Regent heard the chains chink together while Sampson tried to move.
“I’ve been feeling around the floor, looking for something to pick the lock. Unfortunately, I’ve found nothing but human bones that have been picked clean a long time ago. I think we’ve been brought here to die,” Sampson said.
He sounded defeated. It wasn’t like Sampson to accept defeat so easily.
“We’ll find a way out of here.” Regent’s bare foot touched something hard, and he yanked it away, thinking it was more bones.
“I imagine that’s what the other poor saps down here thought, too,” Sampson sighed.
Regent leaned his head back against the wall and considered their options. They could either sit here and die of starvation, or try to find a way out. He knew what he planned to do. The part that scared him the most was that they’d been drugged, then transpo
rted to this dungeon. They had no idea where they were. It might be an extremely isolated place. And who had kidnapped them? Vampires?
“I wonder what time of day it is,” Sampson groaned. “My watch has a light, but I can’t lift my arm high enough to use it. I don’t think there are any windows. If there were, we’d see something even if it was nighttime.”
Rustling sounds started up again somewhere in the room, and Regent pulled his feet as close to his body as the shackles would allow. What had happened to his shoes? He’d feel better if he had them on. He could imagine rats gnawing on his toes, and he wouldn’t be able to stop them since his ankles were shackled to the floor and he couldn’t lift his foot higher than a couple of inches.
“Did you hear a noise?” Sampson said.
“Yes, and I’d rather not think about what it might be.” He thought of the Count of Monte Cristo. They could be in Château d’If, for all he knew.
“I don’t think that particular rustling sound is coming from inside this room. It might be coming from above.”
Regent listened harder. “Good. I’d rather it be outside and not in here, in case it’s some kind of rodent or other animal who’d like to have us for dinner.”
The scuffling grew louder. They heard echoes of shouting now. There was a fight going on somewhere in the building. It went on for several minutes, then died down.
“Wonder what’s going on?” Sampson said.
Regent shuddered. His spine tightened when a key scraped in a door, most likely to their dungeon. “Oh dear,” he said under his breath.
The door opened, and a glimmer of torchlight arrowed into the dungeon, lighting more than they wanted to see. Regent couldn’t believe the number of human bones down here. He felt like he might be sick, but had to pull himself together because someone had just stepped into the room. He and Sampson might be this person’s next victims. With no weapons and no way to escape, all he could do was hope he’d be able to talk his way out of this.
“What do you want with us?” he asked, not expecting an answer. He figured he knew exactly what this person wanted—their death.
The person who entered held a lantern—not something a vampire would have to do. “Father Vandermire? Dr. Case?”
Neither of them answered.
“I’m not one of your kidnappers. I’m here to rescue you and take you to safety,” he said. “My name is Boyer, and I work for Joseph Emanuel Calmet.”
“Calmet? I thought he was dead?” Regent said, keeping Jess’s comments secret. He’d play this game as long as he had to.
“No, sir, he’s very much alive and looking forward to meeting you.”
Boyer approached them with a large iron key. He quickly opened Regent’s shackles and then Sampson’s. “Follow me, gentlemen. We have no time to waste. I’ve managed to incapacitate several of your captors, but more could return at any moment.”
“You did it alone?” Regent asked, following the man named Boyer and noting several bodies in the room at the top of the stone steps.
“Mostly,” Boyer said simply.
They rushed outside, and Boyer led them to a white van. Once inside, Regent looked back at the innocuous-looking stone structure that could’ve been the home of someone important in Paris’s past. It was massive and beautiful.
“Who kidnapped us? Who owns that house?” Regent asked.
“Better you don’t know for now, Father. We just need to get you to safety, and then we’ll let your sister know where you are. She’s probably worried about you by now. You’ve been missing for two days.”
“Oh dear, she’s probably very upset.”
“No doubt,” Boyer said. “But we need to protect you both first. The Immortal has sent hit squads after you.”
“The Immortal?”
“Monsieur Calmet will tell you all about it, sir,” he said, driving faster than Regent was comfortable with. Sampson had been silent, and now that they were seated beside each other, he noted Sampson had a large bump on his bald head and he was bleeding from a wound on his leg. Sampson’s eyes were closed, and his hands were shaking.
“Maybe we should go straight to Jess’s place,” he said. “She can protect us.”
“No, sir, I’ve got strict orders to take you to Monsieur Calmet.”
Sampson’s pale exterior and subdued demeanor had Regent worried. “Sampson needs a hospital. He’s not looking well.” Worse, Sampson didn’t argue with that comment.
Now Regent was really worried about his friend.
“Not necessary, sir. Monsieur Calmet will help him.”
“How can Calmet help him? He’s an artist, not a doctor.” The vehicle sped around a corner so fast, the tires squealed. Regent looked back to see another vehicle on their tail. They were being followed. He couldn’t imagine how Boyer had remained so calm while they had a hit squad on their tail.
Jess, where are you? he thought. He wanted her to know he was okay, and, if they hadn’t currently been running for their lives, he’d insist on being taken home.
“Do you think Boyer is on the up-and-up?” he whispered to Sampson.
“I’m not sure. But we can’t jump from this speeding vehicle. We’ll have to wait until he stops. There are two of us,” he whispered. “Maybe we can overpower him.”
“Did you see how many vampires were taken out back at the house?” Regent reminded him. “He did that alone. I don’t think we should mess with him.”
“But I thought he had help.”
“I did have help, sir,” Boyer said, obviously eavesdropping. He took a corner way too fast, leaving Regent and Sampson scrambling to stay upright. “From Monsieur Calmet.”
Oookay! Calmet was obviously not here. Maybe Boyer was a little confused. Still, it wasn’t as if they had another option right now, anyway. And, truth be known, he really wanted to meet Calmet. But this felt almost like another form of kidnapping. Hopefully, it didn’t turn out that way.
MORANA SNUCK BACK into the forbidden tunnels under her father’s house the next night. She avoided the lab and kept walking, seeing how far they went. She’d checked her watch and would turn back before it was time for her eternal night’s rest. The route was smooth, and there were no roots or overgrown areas on this path. That led her to believe Sinclair had been using this as a way to get into the city. And she thought he never left the house!
A bit later, she heard the rumble of vehicles on the road overhead. She’d entered the city. There had been only two tunnels branching off until now, and with the extra tunnels ahead, she was definitely in Paris. More bones began appearing in the walls, like old friends greeting her.
She inhaled the stale underground air. She’d followed Sinclair’s scent—he’d turned right at this branch in the tunnel. She continued until the scent stopped at a ladder on the side of the cave wall and led upward to a manhole of some kind.
She climbed up and pushed the steel cover open slowly, in case someone was up there. After she climbed out onto the street, she searched for any sign of a building that might interest Sinclair.
It seemed this street hosted many of Paris’s most decrepit structures, especially the one directly across the street. It was so decrepit, she was surprised it hadn’t been condemned. Pieces were hanging from it like Irish moss.
She bit her lip. If the strength of his scent meant anything, Sinclair had been coming here often—but why? She stepped back into the recesses of the building when she heard a vehicle approaching.
It roared down the street and stopped in front of that horribly decayed building. Then she gasped. Regent was sitting in the back seat, looking as if he’d been beaten up, and his friend Sampson was in even worse shape. The driver was a thin man who narrowed his gaze in her direction, as if he knew she was watching. But that wasn’t possible. Not even if he was a vampire, and he appeared
to be just that.
She stepped sideways and found a tiny bench that reeked of Sinclair. He’d sat on this chair over and over, so she seated herself.
The man scanned the building again, then rushed Regent and Sampson out of the car when another vehicle sounded in the distance.
She leaned out far enough to see more lights coming up the street, as if chasing the vehicle Regent had been in.
When she turned back, Regent, Sampson, the strange vampire, and the vehicle had disappeared.
She blinked, then rubbed her eyes and looked again. It hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. He’d been there. How could he have just disappeared?
She waited. The other car sped up to the same location and screeched to a halt. Four broad-shouldered, mean-looking vampires, spilled out of the SUV. “Damn it! We’ve lost him. How are we going to tell him that we lost our captives?”
Another vampire who looked more like a linebacker moaned and cursed. “We’re EFFING dead!”
“He was just there; I saw his taillights.” The vampire pointed to the exact location Morana had last seen the vehicle. “Where could he have gone?”
She wondered the same thing while they monitored the decomposing structures around them. There was nowhere to hide a vehicle.
“I’m not taking the blame for this,” the moaning vampire said. “I was in the back seat. You were driving.”
The driver turned, his black eyes boring into the sniveling vampire next to him. “I’m afraid you’re as much to blame as I am, and we’re both going to die tonight if we don’t find that priest. You saw what happened when the last team failed to capture Father Vandermire. His damned sister saved him.”
“I thought she killed that team?”
“One got away. His mistake. He might as well have let that bartender bitch take him out. His death was agonizing, and I don’t want that to happen to me. We’re not giving up. They must have driven down this street. We’ve got to find them.”
The vampires jumped back into the vehicle and took off down the street at a slower rate with their windows down, so they could watch for Regent and Sampson.
Graves of Retribution Page 17