Dead By Dusk (27 page)

“What are devil dogs?” Stephanie heard herself ask. She gave herself a shake. She was listening to this.

She shouldn't.

But the two seemed to be speaking as if this were all so par for the course!

And despite herself . . .

She couldn't forget the way Grant had been.

She couldn't forget her own dreams.

And mostly . . .

She couldn't forget how she had felt, finding herself on a precipice, not at all sure how or why she had gotten there.

She had been stirring sugar into her coffee. She realized that her hands were shaking. She set down her cup.

“Devil dogs, or demon dogs,” Jade mused, looking at Lucien.

He looked at her and Grant. She realized that Lucien's eyes were really red and gold. She had always noted his eyes. Always noted a way about him, the smooth, easy, animal agility with which he moved. She had always recognized something different about him.

She checked herself—she was believing all of this.

And yet . . . with everything else . . .

Why not?

She found herself staring at Grant, who was looking back at her. She realized that, after his initial disdain, he was listening.

Maybe he was too willing to believe. He had a hardened look about his jaw. As if . . .

Almost as if he were feeling vindicated, and more powerful, now that he might have a direction in which to go. A sense of warmth snaked along her spine. Whatever she had said or done, no matter how confused things had been, she realized, he'd always been willing to fight for her. No matter how she'd rejected him, he'd come back.

She forced her eyes back to Lucien and Jade.

“Do you know what they were talking about—devil dogs?” she asked.

Jade deferred to Lucien. He shook his head. “Not werewolves,” he murmured.

“Werewolves,” Grant said flatly. “They exist?”

“Yes,” Lucien said. “As a matter of fact—before you make a joke—one of my best friends and closest associates is a werewolf.”

Stephanie glanced at Grant. He looked back.

Okay, maybe this is all insane,
his look seemed to say.

“I believe that the demon dogs are something that the witch—or sorceress—Valeria is able to raise. But where she gets them, or what they are, exactly, I don't know,” Lucien said. “Jade has been studying all the old texts she can get her hands on to find out more about them, but . . .”

Grant shook his head suddenly. “Okay, let's say that François de Venue was released from whatever tomb or prison the earth had held him in. He killed Maria Britto, and Gema. Let's say he even played with Lena, and probably Suzette. If he's a vampire, with all this power—and certainly, Maria's body was torn to shreds—why hasn't he just gone crazy? Why didn't he kill Lena outright? Or Suzette? And if the police came after him, assumably, he could make quick work of the police.”

“I'm not sure he's to that point yet,” Jade said.

“If he's been buried for centuries, he needed to slake his hunger first, regain his strength,” Lucien said. “I'm willing to bet that, eventually, they'll find out that some missing persons were killed around here. Bodies will turn up. In the old days, there were rules—a vampire had to destroy his, or her, kills, and only create three new beings of his kind per century.”

Again, Stephanie and Grant exchanged glances.

This time, Lucien sighed impatiently. “All right, I know that this is a lot for the two of you to take in. And that, of course, is why I didn't just come to you from the very beginning and try to say all this—you would have been completely determined to have me locked up.”

“If you're really a vampire,” Grant said, “couldn't you have just hypnotized us into some kind of submission? Or is that just myth, too?”

“No. I could have done all manner of things,” Lucien said evenly. “I didn't.”

Stephanie gasped suddenly.
This couldn't be real. The man couldn't be a vampire.

And yet . . .

“Your arm!” she exclaimed to Lucien. “It was blistered horribly, but . . .”

“I have incredible powers of recuperation,” he told her.

“So that was just from the seawater that was splashed on you when we dragged the little boy out of the water?” she said.

“Actually, everyone managed to get quite a bit of it on me,” he said dryly. He looked at Grant. “You know my weakness. I hope you don't share it.”

“We're still talking,” Grant said.

“All right, so this vampire needs to gain strength,” Stephanie said.

“I think there's more to it than that,” Lucien told her.

“Like what?” Grant asked.

“He has a plan,” Lucien said.

Stephanie shook her head. “Like what?”

“I don't know that yet. If he were just working with the growing powers of one of my own kind, I would know,” Lucien said, and his frustration was very real. “But Valeria . . . whatever her sorcery, it's different, and very powerful. Because of her, he is somehow able to shield himself—just as she shields herself. If she has been awakened as well—which seems to be evident—she is very dangerous. Historically, reviews on her are mixed. Some people believe that François had a hold over her, and that she only used her power for evil—to kill and ravage—because François could hurt her—somehow. Then there are others who believed that she was simply evil incarnate herself. The truth, we don't know.”

“What
do
you know?” Grant asked.

Lucien glanced at Jade, then sat back, drumming his fingers on the table again. He looked at Grant. “I know that you're involved.”

“I'm not a vampire dug up out of the ground!” Grant protested strongly. “You can check on my background, all the way back to nursery school!”

“I never suggested that you were François. But I know it—and you know it. You're involved. Admit it. You felt you had to come here. And you really didn't know that Stephanie would be here.”

Grant was silent, staring at him.

“Steph—you came because of the job. But if you look deep inside, you'll know that every word we're saying is true. You were being summoned. You can't deny it. And if you deny it to me, you still can't lie to yourself. When we found you on the cliff, you had no idea what you were doing, where you were going—or why. Right?”

She, too, just stared at him in silence.

“What do we do?” she asked carefully after a minute.

“First, I need some help. I can't keep slipping in and out of places, trying to get crosses around people's necks,” Lucien said. “And dammit—where's yours?” he asked Stephanie.

She started. “You made that old man give me a cross?”

He shook his head. “He knows,” he said softly. “A lot of these people know. They are actually smarter here than in many a place, because they haven't been so attuned to machinery, technology, and modern culture that they've forgotten there can be more than meets the eye.”

“So . . . the people here just know . . . that there are vampires among them?” Stephanie said.

Grant inhaled suddenly and looked at Lucien. “This person, or creature—François. He did kill Gema—but he didn't destroy her immediately. She died, and became a vampire. And he let her go after Drew and Doug, and somehow, she failed with Drew, but she got to Doug . . . and he would have died, except that Drew found him and they got enough blood into him fast enough. But the arm on my doorstep—it was Gema's arm. Right?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Lucien agreed.

“Why did he turn her into a vampire . . . and then destroy her?” Stephanie asked. “Wouldn't he need . . . helpers, assistants, fellow bloodsuckers? Sorry, Lucien,” she murmured. But he didn't seem offended.

Insanity—she was worried about insulting a man who claimed to be a vampire.

“I think she went further than she was supposed to go with Doug. Whoever our fellow is, he didn't want things happening this fast. Gema disobeyed him. He destroyed her.” Lucien grimaced. “Why do you think Maria Britto looked so alive at her wake?”

“Obviously,” Stephanie said, arching a brow, “because she wasn't really dead. She was a vampire, with remarkable powers of recovery?”

“Exactly,” Lucien said. “But if her mother hadn't destroyed her,” he added grimly, “I'd have been there, watching her.”

“Watching her? Not destroying her yourself?”

“In Maria's case . . . I would have gone to her.”

“I don't believe I'm going to say this, but . . .” Stephanie said, looking at Lucien again. “Because she might have been a
good vampire
?”

“Something like that,” Lucien said.

“Now I'm lost. When I found Maria, she was in . . . tatters. The police were there, and the coroner and the doctor, and her death was definitely not natural. Why didn't the doctor and coroner do the autopsy and embalm her correctly in the first place?” Grant asked.

“Because vampires have the power to hypnotize,” Jade said softly.

“All right, so either Maria or this François got to both those men. Right?”

“That's what I believe,” Lucien said.

Grant lifted his hands, staring at Lucien. “Why—why have you been so mistrustful of me? I'm not sure myself who tackled who on Stephanie's balcony tonight—and I know I was damned suspicious of you. But why were you after me?” Grant demanded, staring at Lucien.

“Because you are involved somehow. I wasn't sure . . . on which side,” Lucien told him. “Besides, I wasn't really after you—I was just watching you. You were the one always willing to pick a fight.”

“Because you seemed to be following Stephanie. How could I have known you didn't intend any harm to her?” Grant demanded.

“I told you, Lucien—if you'd just come to them in the beginning,” Jade murmured.

Lucien smiled, shaking his head. “They aren't really buying all of this tonight, Jade. But they've both felt enough of a disturbance that they have to listen with their minds open—a crack, at least.”

“I still don't understand. You have all these powers. You're a king of your kind. Wait a minute—you're wearing a cross!” Grant said suddenly.

“There's an important point you need to learn,” Lucien said, looking at them both. “Yes, I can wear a cross. I can walk into a church—I was born at a time when the Church was everything—and I can still feel a deep peace. Now. Because in the battle, there is black and white and shades between. But there is good and evil, the salvation of life, and the brutal destruction of it. I fight for life, and against the kind of evil that feeds on blood and pain. Such a creature as François? He could not wear a cross—or a Star of David, for that matter. He would cringe before a really holy man of any religion that respected the one Creator. There are tricks to dupe, disable, and slaughter priests and holy men, of course. But true believers have their weapons as well. François would not be able to enter consecrated ground. Holy water would hurt—badly. But you'd need a lot to really kill such a creature. I believe that during the daylight hours, François is still weak. That doesn't mean that he isn't about. It just means he can't cause the harm by day that he can at night. During the light today, what you two need to do is make the rest of this crew understand that no one should be invited in, crosses are far more important apparel than underwear, and no one should be alone.”

“That's great for our crew, but this is a town, a village . . .” Grant reminded him. “There are many people at risk.”

“You did notice, I'm certain, that there was no huge outcry when it was discovered that Maria Britto was not given an autopsy, or embalmed,” Lucien said. He stared hard at Stephanie. “The person in question here is Victoria Reggia.”

She shook her head firmly. “Reggie did not just pop out of the ground! She was there for me when my parents died, and that was nearly eleven years ago.”

Lucien shrugged. “Still . . . the opening here—of the club—rather coincided with the growth of the dig. The earthquake that led to the discovery of the remains happened just about two months ago.”

“You're not making any sense—the resort itself was surely started way before that!” Stephanie told him.

“The resort was built nearly a year ago by a group of American businessmen. They sold it to Victoria Reggia—just about two months ago.”

“Are you suggesting that Reggie is an evil sorceress?” Stephanie demanded, growing angry. “Again, I tell you it makes no sense—I've known Reggie for more than a decade.”

“Yes, yes, I understand that,” Lucien said.

“You think she's a reincarnation of an evil sorceress?” Stephanie said, grating her teeth, unable to keep a disdainful note from her voice.

“No,” Lucien said.

Stephanie threw up her hands. “Then just what are you getting at?”

“I'm trying very hard to determine just why . . . why it seems that you are so pivotal in all this,” Lucien said quietly.

“Me!” Stephanie protested.

“And you, of course, Grant. But you already know that there's a connection for you here.”

“Interesting. My name is Peterson,” Grant said dryly.

“And I'm a Cahill!” Stephanie said.

Lucien smiled. “A lot of centuries have gone by since François de Venue, Valeria, and Conan de Burgh were caught up in an earthquake. Stephanie, you're related to Reggie somehow, right?”

She waved a hand in the air. “Vaguely. She's my mother's cousin, or something like that. Maybe a second cousin. I don't even know. She was there for me. She's a good friend.”

“Interesting, though. She set all this up, she brought you over, hired everyone—including me—but hasn't come around to see her work,” Lucien noted.