The Vampire Files, Volume Two

by P. N. Elrod

  “So what’s that to me?”

  “It means this is your chance to come in on the deal. We can work together on this.”

  “Oooh, what’s next? A box of candy and a ring?”

  “I’m serious, Angela. I want to cut you in on the business.”

  “Why do you need me?”

  “For what I just told you. To hold things together.”

  She was quiet for a long time, probably thinking it all through very seriously, indeed. I could tell because she wasn’t pacing.

  “So what d’ya say?” he asked.

  “Call me when Kyler’s out of the way, then we’ll really talk.”

  “Why not now?”

  “You already said it: I can’t trust you and I know you don’t trust me.”

  “Of course I do, or I wouldn’t be giving you this stuff.”

  “You don’t or you would have told me right out that Kyler’s dead and on that boat.”

  Despite the constant lap of wafer masking over the more subtle sounds around us, I could have sworn that I heard his heart jump. It took him a while to settle down and find his voice. “How did …?”

  “Your ’invisible’ friend here mentioned it. I got the whole story of how you killed Kyler and put the blame on Fleming. I like the way you tied it up, but I don’t like being lied to and I’m not going to forget it if and when we do cut a deal. Are you sure you want to work with me?”

  He bumped me with his toe again. “Dead and he’s still making trouble. Okay, Angela, you caught me out on Kyler and I’m sorry, but it was pretty important news and I had to know which way you were pointed before I could—”

  “Uh-huh. You want to talk or give excuses all night?”

  “Talk,” he blurted, then shut up. I could almost sympathize with him on how she’d jerked the rug right out from under his generous offer and put him on the defensive. If they did manage to work something out, I had a good idea on who would be the senior partner.

  The boat came back just then and Angela’s attention instantly switched to it and its passengers.

  “Daddy? Are you all right?”

  No answer.

  “Doc, what’s with him? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing, he’s just a little tired and boozy. They were giving him some of the hard stuff to keep him quiet. Let him sleep it off and he’ll be fine.”

  She wasn’t too reassured and fretted until he was safely out of the rowboat and up on the dock. With Doc and Mac’s help she was quick to get him away into the truck. Newton and Lester remained behind.

  “Last trip and then we can call it a night,” said Chaven. Deiter held the boat steady while the other three struggled to lower Vic into it. “Jeez, why did you have to pack the weights inside with the stiff? You coulda tied them on afterward.”

  No one bothered to answer. My turn came up. They refolded the carpet over my face and hefted and heaved. I was dropped on top of Vic without ceremony or much respect for the dead. The only reason they weren’t rougher was worry over tearing up the boat. The barbell weight that had slipped out was handed, not dumped, in then Chaven climbed down and we were pushed away.

  The oars scraped in their locks, then Deiter got down to rhythmic rowing. The nasty, corkscrewing motion of the boat abated a bit, but my stomach still wanted to turn itself inside out in reaction.

  “What’s the holdup?” asked Chaven.

  “Nothing, just a heavy load. I’m getting tired and these stiffs must weigh a ton. How’d Angela take your pitch?”

  “She’s got more brains than what’s good for her, but I think we can swing something after she cools down. Give her some time with her dear old dad, then I can start sending her posies, though if that broad’s anything like Frankie, money would work better.”

  “You’re going to give her money?”

  “No, but I’ll make sure she knows the stuff is there and waiting if she wants to work with me.”

  “Still can’t figure why you want to risk it. I’d rather sleep with a tarantula than trust her, especially after what she did to Red and the boys.”

  “I’m not sleeping with her and I’m not trusting her, but she is necessary. She may not have much pull yet, but she does know how to work with people and knows what people to work with. Kyler played it too close to the chest for me to get enough of a handle on things.”

  “But what about Red? And Vic here? You wanta end up like them?”

  “No, and as long as I keep my eyes open, that won’t happen. The nice part is that Angela knows she needs me, too.”

  “And when she don’t need you no more?”

  “Then she can go on a nice cruise of this beautiful lake.”

  “ ’Less she bumps you first.”

  “She won’t.”

  Deiter applied his full attention to rowing and was quite out of breath by the time one of the Elvira’s crew hailed us. Ropes were thrown and instructions passed. Deiter and Chaven gratefully turned the problem of unloading us over to them. After some discussion, a rope net was thrown down and wrapped around us and we were hoisted up with the help of one of their loading cranes. So I deduced from their talk and the complete discomfort and sick-making swinging around that I was subjected to before they were finished.

  The steadier deck of the yacht was an improvement over the row-boat, but my back hairs were still on end and the effect of all the acrobatics on my already sensitive stomach was predictable. Vic and I were rolled from the net like so much fish and a protective tarp thrown over us. He didn’t mind, but I did and began fighting to get free, not caring who saw; this was pure survival.

  At least my strength had returned. After enough wriggling to tear up a straitjacket, I got one arm free. This created some space for the other to come out, and I clawed at the carpet, pushing it from my face. The tarp hadn’t been tied down and fresh cold air came up under it to ease the revolution in my gut. Such frantic activity had dislodged the barbell weights, which was something to celebrate.

  I was freezing. My fingers could do little more than fumble at the knots, which I could barely feel. All this was by touch, with me folded in two to get to the ropes on my ankles. It was the kind of work designed to teach a person patience in the most exasperating way possible. I was a lousy student and went on another silent cursing streak. Finally, one of the less likely loops came loose, but it led to another that was a dead end.

  With an idea of turning up something sharp, like a convenient knife, I took a cautious look from under the tarp. No one around. Lucky them. I was in a pretty foul mood by now and more than ready to work it off on anyone handy.

  They’d left us piled on the aft section. Beyond the rail was a vast line of the city’s lights floating above silver and black ribbons of water—not far away, but too far for me. All I wanted was to cut loose, get to the rowboat, and get to shore and to hell with everybody else.

  Except that it didn’t work out like that. I’d forgotten that Chaven had more to throw overboard than me and Vic. He still had Kyler on his hands and wasn’t about to waste time getting rid of him. Just before ducking back under the tarp, I saw one of the crew and Deiter struggling along with a blanket-wrapped bundle of unmistakable weight and shape. Chaven was right behind them.

  “Get the rail off,” he ordered.

  “I still think we’re too close to the shore,” Deiter complained.

  “Opal’s starting to bitch about going home soon. I have to stay on her good side until I can get her to hand over the code key for the books. So let’s move it.”

  “A punch in the kisser would work just as good.”

  “Come on, give us a hand.”

  They yanked away the tarp. I played possum once more. With my feet still tied up, I couldn’t get to them, they’d have to come to me. Deiter grabbed my ankles and hauled me almost to the edge of the deck. The water was much too close. I flinched involuntarily against the uneasy movement of the yacht.

  “Hey, what the hell?” He let go as if I were a hot br
ick.

  “What is it?”

  “Chaven, look at this. He’s … come loose … or something.”

  “Who’re you kidding? He’s dead.”

  “Maybe not so dead as you think. See?” Deiter shuffled nervously back.

  “Douse that light, you jerk.” His voice was thinner, harsher. “The ropes didn’t hold, is all.”

  “Don’t be a stoop. Look at him! He had to have done it. Who else?”

  Chaven looked. “This is crazy. He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”

  “Angela put one over on you, is what it is. You gotta do something about him.”

  “Oh, hell, get outta the way.”

  It was dark enough for me to risk cracking my eyes. Chavcn crowded in close, right where I wanted him, but he drew his gun—Escort’s stolen Wehley—which I could have done without.

  As I suddenly sat up and reached for him like some long-dreaded retribution, he let out an honest-to-God shriek that I didn’t think could come from a human throat. Deiter and the other guy also joined the chorus, stumbling all over one another in their hurry to get away. It might have been funny if I hadn’t truly been fighting for my life.

  I got both hands on Chaven’s arm and shoved the gun to my right. He tried to pull himself away. The damn thing went off, again and again and …

  Chaven threw himself backward. I didn’t dare let go of his arm. I was dragged along.

  The bullets flew wide.

  Couldn’t use my legs for leverage, they were still caught up in the rug. Concentrated on the gun. Another shot.

  Then I got one hand over his. The Webley bucked and roared as I twisted it up. This time the bullet struck. The side of Chaven’s throat exploded. Blood burst from the wound, spraying me. The gun’s sharp recoil took it out of his grip; it dropped on the deck with a thud. Then there was a horrible weightless second with both of us screaming as we crashed headfirst into the lake.

  Headfirst into hell.

  Water.

  Free-flowing water.

  Free-flowing death.

  Chaven pushed away, the last thing he ever did. In four seconds all the life went out of him, flooding the shifting shadows around us with the black cloud of his blood.

  I was upside down, my legs tied fast in the rug and the thing spreading above me, buoyant in the water. Arms out as though flying, Chaven’s body drifted past in a slow downward spiral, a thick trail streaming from his throat. The darkness took him … and reached out for me.

  It bubbled and burned like fire, tearing right through the top of my skull.

  It seared and clawed and ripped at my frail flesh like a starved monster.

  It smashed and smothered, crashing my final wailing hope of escape.

  Ears stuffed with it, eyes blurred from it, mouth gagging on it, bones shrinking from its freezing touch…

  I kicked and writhed and fought and howled and strangled against it.

  Epilogue

  I’M alive.

  It was the first real thought to surface in my cobweb-clogged brain since I woke up on the beach. I’d been groggy then, with only enough stuff working in my head to shakily stand and blink down at my soaked clothes. It never occurred to me to question why I was on a beach and in such a condition, and I was still in a thought-numbing state of shock when I climbed a short, sandy rise and found the road.

  Loose-limbed like a cartoon scarecrow, I walked, head bowed to watch my feet because I couldn’t feel them. I looked up once to check that the lights of the city were still ahead, and tripped on something, sprawling flat. I immediately scrambled up again, not daring to rest. The icy wind was cutting me in two; if I stopped moving now, I might stop moving for good.

  Teeth chattering, arms clutched tight around my chest, I bowed my head again in a wordless prayer for more strength and staggered forward. I’d been down this road before, only then it hadn’t been so damned cold.

  I had been colder … out there … shuddering in the water, my ankles bound together … not suspended between heaven and hell, but very definitely in hell.

  Headfirst.

  For an age.

  Until the press of water became too much and began to crush me into something that wasn’t me and yet was.

  I floated, just another bubble compressed into a moving plastic sphere by the water. I was going to float to heaven.

  I made it as far as the surface.

  Then the trip, an endless rush over a liquid desert. Realization that heaven wasn’t my destination, after all, but then neither was hell. Perhaps another time, if ever.

  I shivered. It was a memory now, but memories have a way of hurting you far worse than the original experience.

  Road. Watch the feet. Think of other things.

  Like Angela Faco, a dark little angel of death, every bit as lethal as her father had been. If nor already, she’d be making plans to get rid of Escott. Not at all nice. I’d have to have a serious talk with her.

  Escott. Might want to mention it to him, too.

  Chaven. Better not to think about him at all.

  Same for Kyler.

  Dear God, it’s cold. The wind sliced through my wet clothes, cutting at my puckered white skin.

  Road. The one I’d taken that first night, when Sanderson tried to run me down. I’d stuck my thumb out, hoping for a ride….

  Motor. This time the sound coming toward me from the city, not from behind. Too bad. Could have used the lift.

  Headlights separating, growing larger, had to shade my eyes from them. Not wanting to tempt fate, I moved closer to the shoulder of the road to give the driver plenty of room to pass.

  He slowed instead.

  Not again.

  I waited for him to shift the gears, hit the gas, and hurtle down on me as Sanderson had. I waited and shook miserably in the Arctic blast off the lake.

  The car coasted to a stop, motor idling softly.

  It was a Nash.

  The passenger door opened. A tall, lean man got out, moving slowly, his bony face pinched with concern. I glanced behind me to see what he was looking at, but saw nothing of interest.

  “Jack?”

  Yeah. That’s my name. His was Escott. I had something to tell him….

  He came closer. “Shoe and I had arranged a meeting with Miss Paco—we were just en route to pick you up. Are you …?”

  “B-better not g-go,” I choked out. My words tasted of lake water.

  He stiffly shrugged out of his overcoat. “My God, man, you’re freezing to death.”

  I grinned, which alarmed him even more. “N-not this t-time.”

  I’m alive.

  He draped the thing over my shoulders and guided me toward the waiting car.

  P. N. “Pat” Elrod, best known for The Vampire Files and the Jonathan Barrett: Gentleman Vampire series, coedited Time of the Vampires and has stories in several other anthologies. A great fan of the television series Forever Knight, she collaborated with actor Nigel Bennet (LaCroix) on the Lord Richard, Vampire series. She is currently working on a new set of toothy titles and branching into the mystery and science fiction genres.