Standing hipshot against a corner of his desk, Costain gestured at a red velvet chair.
Alex hesitated a moment, then took a seat.
Rhys crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded Daisy’s brother. He wasn’t sure he liked O’Donnell, but he respected him. “What kind of favor are you looking for?”
Alex cleared his throat. “I killed a vampire name of Eduardo Tietjen a few months back. The night after I took his head, someone murdered my wife. They left me a note, written in Paula’s blood, saying I’d killed their mate and they had killed mine.” Alex took a deep breath. “They killed more than my wife. They killed our unborn child.”
“I see. So, you want me to hunt this vampire down and take her out?”
“No. I want you to tell me where I can find her so I can do it.”
“That might cause some trouble for you with the Master of the East Coast vampires.”
“But I thought…” Alex frowned. “When you destroyed Villagrande, didn’t that make you Master of the East Coast?”
“As soon as word got out that Villagrande had been destroyed, a vampire by the name of Morag declared she was taking over the East Coast.” Costain lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “More power to her if she can hold it and the Southern states, too.”
“You didn’t want to take Villagrande’s place?”
“Hell, no. I’ve got enough to look after here.” A slow grin spread over Costain’s face. “Besides, I’d rather spend my time with my woman.”
“How is Megan?”
“Never better. She’s gone to England and Scotland with her parents.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
Rhys shrugged. “They asked me, but they didn’t really want me along. Anyway, I thought it would be good for Megan to spend some time alone with her folks.”
“So they’re okay with her new lifestyle?”
“I’m not sure okay is the word I would use, but they’ve accepted it. Not that I gave them any choice.”
“You forced the change on Megan?”
“In a way. She got hit by a car and was in a coma. After a few weeks, the doctor informed her parents there wasn’t much hope for recovery.”
“So you took things into your own hands.”
“Damn right. I carried her to my lair. Turning her was the biggest risk I’ve ever taken. Thankfully, the change brought her back to me.”
“I guess accepting the change was their only option if they wanted to see their daughter again.”
“Exactly,” Rhys said.
Alex rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and leaned forward. “Do you know who Tietjen’s mate is?”
“No. All I know about him is that he spent most of his time back east. But I’ll ask around and see what I can find out.”
“Thanks.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Roosevelt over on Hollywood Boulevard.” Ironically, he’d been given Room 212, the same room Carl Kolchak had used back in 1974 in an episode of the Night Stalker titled “The Vampire.”
“Nice place. I spent a few nights there shortly after it was built back in 1927. Lots of big time movie stars stayed there back in the thirties and forties—Fairbanks, Pickford, Gable and Lombard.”
“Yeah?”
Rhys nodded. “They say Marilyn Monroe’s ghost still haunts the place. Montgomery Clift’s, too, if you believe in that sort of thing.”
“Do you? Believe in ghosts?”
“I’ve never seen one, but what the hell, I’ve seen a lot of other strange things. What about you?”
Alex shrugged. “I’ve never given it any thought.”
Rhys regarded O’Donnell curiously for a moment. “Tell me something. Have you changed your mind about what we talked about last year?”
“No.” Alex shuddered, remembering that Costain had offered him the Dark Gift at the time. It’s bad enough having a sister and a brother-in-law who are vampires.”
“From what I hear, Daisy’s got no complaints.”
Alex shrugged. “Maybe not right now. It’s all still new to her. Hell, it might even be exciting. But it ain’t natural, and it ain’t right.”
“Who’s to say what’s right?” Rhys asked, his voice harsh.
“Well, I guess a man who’s killed as many people as you have wouldn’t see anything wrong with it.”
“Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black to me, hunter,” he said, emphasizing the last word. “Isn’t that what hunters do? Kill?”
“Big difference. Your kind are already dead. And I don’t prey on people to survive.” Alex raked his fingers through his hair.
Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re right. I’ve killed in my time, and enjoyed doing it. But that was then, and this is now.”
“What happened?” Alex asked, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Did you suddenly find religion?”
“No,” Rhys said, smiling. “I found Megan.”
Alex snorted disdainfully. “Don’t tell me. You were saved by the love of a good woman.”
“Scoff if you must, but it’s the truth. She changed my life.”
“And now she’s like you.”
“Megan will never be like me,” Rhys said quietly. “Turning her into a vampire didn’t make her a monster. She’s still the same warm, sweet, caring woman she’s always been.”
“Uh-huh. From what I hear, things didn’t work out so well for her best friend.”
“As I told Megan, becoming a vampire brings out the best—or the worst—in people. It brought out the worst in Shirl. And in myself, in the beginning.” Rhys looked thoughtful for a moment. “If Shirl hadn’t thrown in with Villagrande, she might still be alive.”
“Yeah? Well, this little stroll down memory lane isn’t getting me any closer to finding out who killed my wife.”
Rhys pushed away from the desk. “If I hear anything about Tietjen, I’ll let you know.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Alex said, rising. “Give my best to Megan when you see her.”
Rhys closed the door behind Alex, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Once a hunter, always a hunter, he mused. But then, it was bred into the boy’s genes. His father, brother, and sister had all been hunters of one kind or another.
Still, he owed the kid a favor and he always paid his debts.
A thought took Rhys to the new council headquarters down by the beach. Since Tomás Villagrande had burned the old house to the ground last year, Rhys had bought a new place. It was a small, single-story house, the wood siding weathered and gray. A white picket fence surrounded the yard. The scent of the ocean was strong, accented by the whooshing of waves endlessly rushing to the shore.
Since the house was rarely used except for occasional meetings, only the living room was furnished. Two butter-soft brown leather sofas faced each other in the middle of the room. A pair of overstuffed leather chairs flanked a recently acquired walnut coffee table. There were no carpets in the house, and no other furnishings.
He had summoned the Vampire Council earlier that evening, instructing them to convene at midnight. When he opened the door, an indrawn breath told him they were all waiting inside. The council had shrunk considerably since Tomás Villagrande’s visit to the city. Of the six former members, only Rupert Moss, Julius Romano and Nicholas remained.
Villagrande had destroyed the others.
Since then, Rhys had brought another member on board. Randolph Morris was a recently-turned vampire who kept his primary lair in Bozeman, Montana. He was a short, rotund man in his mid-thirties, with frizzy red hair, pale-blue eyes, and a liberal sprinkling of freckles across his too-large nose. He was, Rhys thought, the most unlikely looking vampire he had ever known.
The members of the council all looked at him expectantly when he entered the room. Rupert occupied one sofa. Dressed in unrelieved black from head to foot, he sported a pencil-thin mustache and wore his black hair slicked back, which only added to his resemblance to a 1930s matinee idol
.
Gray-haired, tall, angular and wrinkled, Nicholas slouched in one of the chairs. He wore a natty, gray pin-striped suit over a crisp white shirt and tie. He had been turned when he was in his mid-seventies. Rhys knew very little about the man, since Nick rarely talked about what he had done before being turned. He spent most of his time in Arizona.
Julius stood with one shoulder propped against the mantel, idly paring his fingernails with a switchblade. In his former life, he had been a drug dealer on the mean streets of East Los Angeles, and he looked the part. He had dark brown hair and close-set brown eyes that were constantly moving. A red-and-black snake tattoo ran the length of his left arm from wrist to shoulder.
Morris sat on the other sofa, one foot tapping nervously on the floor, his expression uncertain.
“So,” Rupert drawled, “what are we here for?”
“It isn’t another rogue vampire, is it?” Nicholas asked, grimacing. “We haven’t recovered from the last one.”
“An acquaintance of mine is looking for information on a recently deceased vampire who went by the name of Tietjen,” Rhys said. “Any of you ever heard of him?”
“Eduardo Tietjen?” Julius asked.
“You know him?”
Julius caressed the head of the snake on his arm. “I met him in Tijuana when I was a fledgling. He’s the one who created my tattoo.”
“He was a tattoo artist?” Rupert asked. “Seems like an odd occupation for a vampire.”
Julius shrugged. “He was good at it. Who killed him?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Rhys dropped into the vacant chair. “What else do you know about him?”
“Not much,” Julius said. “He was a little over four hundred years old, used to like to hang out in Tijuana and Cabo San Lucas.”
“Ah, the good life,” Nicholas said with a wistful smile. “I honeymooned in Cabo many years ago. Of course, it wasn’t the popular place it is today when Miriam and I stayed there…”
“You can reminisce later,” Rhys said, his voice sharp. “Go on, Julius, did Tietjen have a girlfriend? A wife? A significant other?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Do you know who turned him?”
“He claimed it was Sandoval, but I don’t know if that’s true. I always thought Tietjen said it just to make himself seem important.”
Rhys swore softly. Sandoval was a six-hundred-year-old vampire who kept his permanent lair in Spain. A vampire’s powers grew stronger as he aged. Those under a hundred were considered young; those over five hundred—like himself - were considered ancient.
“I’ll get in touch with Sandoval,” Rhys said. “In the meantime, if any of you hear anything, let me know.”
Moments later, Rhys was alone in the house. He had no desire to play nursemaid to Daisy’s brother, but he owed the man a life debt, and it had to be paid.
CHAPTER 4
Strolling along the shore at Seal Beach, Alex kicked a clump of seaweed out of his path. He had little hope that Costain would learn anything helpful, but he’d had no one else to turn to.
Hands clenched at his sides, Alex dropped down on the sand and stared out at the ocean. The moon’s light danced over the surface of the waves as they rushed toward the shore and then receded. Millions of stars lit the sky. Paula had loved the beach.
He swore a vile oath. What the hell was he doing here?
Destroying the vampire who killed his wife and unborn child wouldn’t bring either one of them back. Most likely, it would only lead to more killing, perhaps even his own destruction. And what the hell did it matter? His brother was dead. Paula and the baby were dead. Daisy was a vampire. Sure, his parents would miss him, but they had each other. And what did he have? Nothing but a shit load of guilt and remorse.
He rubbed his fingers together as he remembered the warm sticky feeling of Paula’s blood on his hands. He wouldn’t rest—couldn’t rest—until he had fulfilled his vow to avenge her death and that of their unborn child. And if he died in the attempt, so be it.
He stared into the distance. Catalina Island was out there somewhere. Paula had mentioned wanting to take a trip to the island to see the flying fish and ride on a glass-bottom boat after the baby was born.
Muttering an oath, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and connected to the Internet. Once online, he found the hunter website on the Dark Web, clicked on Vampires Wanted, then refined his search to those residing in Southern California. There were half a dozen—four male and two female.
He was mapping the location of the nearest male when Costain hunkered down beside him.
“Dammit, man, don’t do that!” Alex exclaimed.
“Sorry,” Rhys said with a wry grin. “Want me to ring a warning bell next time?”
Alex glared at the vampire.
Rhys jerked his chin at Alex’s cell phone. “Looking for anyone in particular?”
“No.” Alex slid the phone into his back pocket.
“You aren’t thinking of hunting in my territory, are you?” The vampire’s tone was mild enough but his eyes were hard as flint.
“What if I was?”
“I wouldn’t advise it, but you do what you want.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Consider it a warning. Any vampires in my territory are here under my protection. It would be considered a breach of etiquette if they were destroyed.”
“Breach of etiquette?” Alex said, grimacing. “Give me a break.”
“You have a lot to learn.”
“How’d you find me? Oh, right!” Alex said, with a snap of his fingers. “I gave you my blood.” It was an experience he wasn’t likely to forget.
“That was a hell of a night.” Rhys remarked. “And a hell of a fight. We were damn lucky.”
More than lucky, Alex thought. Their encounter with Tomás Villagrande, the Mast of the East Coast Vampires, had been epic. Villagrande had been the world’s oldest vampire. Not long ago, he had decided he wanted a change of scene and made his way to the West Coast, leaving one body after another in his wake. Once he arrived, he had decided to challenge Costain for the city. It was a battle Alex wasn’t likely to forget.
It had taken Alex, Erik, Daisy, Megan, and Rhys to defeat Villagrande In the heat of battle, with Rhys down and almost out, Alex had dragged himself across the floor and offered Rhys his blood. Rhys hadn’t taken much, but it had given the vampire the strength he needed to stay in the fight. In the end, Rhys had driven a stake into Villagrande’s heart. In moments, the ancient vampire’s body began to shrink in on itself, the flesh melting away, the bones disintegrating, until there was nothing left but dust.
Alex grinned inwardly. In days gone by, minstrels would have written songs about the battle, elegies would have been written. It had been strange, fighting alongside Costain instead of against him. No doubt about it—love, war, and politics made for strange bedfellows or, in Alex’s case, drinking partners.
It hadn’t been the first time Alex had let a vampire feed off him. He had fed Daisy’s husband, too. And Daisy’s husband had shared blood with him, although Alex had no memory of that. It had happened the day they had stumbled onto Costain’s lair, although they hadn’t known it was his at the time. Rhys had awakened before Alex could take his head. He didn’t remember much after that. Daisy had told him she’d gotten worried because he’d been gone so long, rushed into the house and found him on the floor—covered in his own blood—trying to fight off the Costain. She’d thrown holy water in the vampire’s face and managed to drag Alex out of there. With nowhere else to turn, Daisy had taken him to Erik.
Alex glanced at Costain. “What are you doing here?” he asked, shoving the memory aside.
Costain shrugged. “Nothing better to do with Megan out of town.”
“Did you find out anything about Tietjen?”
“Nothing concrete.”
“I knew it was a long shot,” Alex said. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t really expect to learn anything
here. I just needed to get away.” Away from the pity in his parents’ eyes, the sadness and accusation in the eyes of Paula’s family. Away from the house where she had been murdered.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rhys said quietly.
“Thanks. I don’t suppose death means much to you.”
“It’s a part of life.” Rhys stared out at the water, his expression pensive. “I’ve watched a lot people die.”
“I guess it’s something you get used to when you’ve lived as long as you have.”
“Yeah.”
Alex picked up a handful of sand and watched the grains trickle through his fingers.
“Like sands through the hour glass,” Rhys muttered with a wry grin.
Alex dusted off his hands. “Very funny.”
“My offer to bring you across still stands.”
“No, thanks, I like being human.” But he couldn’t help remembering the picture Costain had once painted in his mind. You’re judging a way of life for which you have no experience, the vampire had told him. You have no idea what it’s like to have the strength of twenty men, to be able to transform into mist, to move faster than the human eye can follow, to scale a building or leap a barrier with no effort at all, to cross the country with a thought, to see and hear and touch the world in ways that mortals can never know. You wouldn’t believe how addicting that power can be.
“Well,” Rhys said, “if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Yeah.”
Alex watched Costain rise effortlessly to his feet and then, between one heartbeat and the next, the vampire was gone.
Costain sounded like a recruiter for the Undead, Alex mused, spouting all that crap about how great it was to be a vampire. What was so terrific about drinking blood and living only at night? Sure, it might be fun to have all those paranormal abilities, but he liked barbequing on summer days, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face, savoring his mother’s devil’s food cake. He liked cooking and even more than cooking, he liked eating. He wondered if Daisy ever regretted her decision to become a vampire. Their parents had been shocked when they learned Erik had turned their daughter, but when your parents were hunters, their initial horror was to be expected.
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