Dead By Dusk (32 page)

“Yes, she'll have to,” Stephanie said.

With another shrug, he started to walk off.

“Wait. I'll call her.”

Stephanie pulled out her phone and dialed Reggie's number. Reggie answered instantly. “Stephanie?”

“Yes. Reggie, what's going on here? Giovanni is telling me you want to see me. I told him you were in Belgium.”

“Oh, Stephanie, I lied. I'm here, I've been here. After we hung up, I knew I just couldn't lie to you anymore. But there are so many awful things being said about me . . . I've been keeping a low profile. I feel I have to see you and explain. I'm so sorry. Will you come to me? I don't want others to know I'm here—not until they can get some answers to the terrible things that are happening!”

It was definitely Reggie. And she sounded so upset.

“Where are you?”

“Giovanni can bring you to me,” Reggie said.

Stephanie reminded herself that she had known Reggie for years, that she hadn't popped out of the ground at any dig. Still, she intended to be careful.

“Reggie, try to understand. No one in the theater group is angry with you. I was just going to stop in and see Lena and Suzette. Why don't you meet me there?”

“No, Stephanie,” Reggie protested. “Just—”

“That's where I'll be, Reggie,” Stephanie said firmly.

She looked at Giovanni, who just shrugged. “I have done my job,” he said, and giving her a wave, he started walking toward the resort.

Stephanie hurried to Lena's cottage.

When she got there and knocked on the door, she was startled as it opened when she rapped.

Opened . . .

Creaked inward.

Cautiously, she stuck her head in. “Lena? Suzette?”

“Steph!” Lena called. “Come in.”

She did.

It was dark inside. She blinked against the change of light.

Then she saw the two of them—and the scene in the living room area.

She stopped dead still in horror

She started to back away.

But behind her, the doorway was now blocked.

“Oh, no, Stephanie. You're staying!” she was told.

She recognized the voice, but turning back to the light, she was blinded. There was a tall, large form there, hands on hips.

Then she knew.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“It's time,” he said simply.

Maria Britto was laid to rest with a great deal of ceremony.

As they stood in the background, Arturo came around behind Grant and spoke softly. “Here, you see, she is in the hallowed ground. Beyond there . . . the small stone fence, there is where those who have died outside the church have gone. The priest has sprinkled holy water around the entire circumference of the grave, and before the dirt is thrown over the coffin, the great cross there will go over the length of it.”

“I see, thank you,” Grant whispered in return.

He noted that, bit by bit, most of the town had arrived. Merc and Franco had apparently ended their questioning of hospital employees, because they were there, together as usual, more like an eternal pair of twins rather than a father and son.

Dr. Antinella had arrived as well. Grant recognized people from the cafés, the shops, the hospital, and even the dig. Carlo Ponti was there, along with two of his closest associates, the German forensic anthropologist Heinrich Gutten and the French historian Jacques Perdot.

The person who was not with them, he realized suddenly, was Stephanie.

He backed up to where Jade was standing. “Where's Steph?”

Jade turned around, looking through the crowd. “I don't know,” she admitted.

“Doug, Drew,” Grant said, looking back, behind Jade. Drew was there; Doug was not. “Where's Stephanie—and Doug?”

“Doug . . . I don't know!” Drew said, looking around, frowning. “He was with me until we reached the gates . . . and Steph . . . she was with us when we were leaving the hospital.”

Grant backed away, a feeling of urgency coming over him as he searched the crowd anxiously.

She definitely wasn't with him.

“I have to find Stephanie,” he said to Drew. Turning quickly, he started to head out the cemetery gates.

Jade ran after him. “She must be back at the hospital.”

“Why? Even Antinella, the cops, and the hospital staff are here,” he said, his concern growing.

With Jade and Drew following behind him, Grant hurried on with long strides. But at the cemetery gates, he stopped.

The old man was standing there. Now, he was carrying a huge sword. It was a double-handed battle sword.

Grant thought the man intended to swing it.

But the fellow looked at him and began speaking earnestly. He didn't appear to be insane, nor was he as wild as he had been before, in Doug's hospital room.

He offered the sword to Grant, his words rapid, intent, and insistent.

“He wants you to take it. He says that you're going to need it,” Jade said.

“I can't take that from him!” Grant protested. “It looks . . . if it's not original, it's a damned good copy.”

“G
razie, grazie, ma no!
” Grant said to the man.

The old fellow shook his head, and blocked the exit again.

“Take it from him!” Jade advised.

Unless he wanted to knock the man out of the way—or risk his temper and cause him to use it—Grant could see no alternative. He looked back. Many at the funeral were now watching him. They didn't seem to think it odd that the man was offering him a sword. They looked on with mild interest.

The man said something in Italian that Grant couldn't catch.

“He says that the time has come,” Jade translated softly.

“What time?”

“The time when you're going to need the sword, I believe,” she said.

Grant accepted the blade, thanking the old man again. The fellow stepped out of his way, nodding gravely.

The funeral-goers turned back to heed the words of the priest.

The entire area suddenly seemed to darken. Grant looked at the sky. It was growing late. Dusk was coming. And quickly.

He started to run toward the hospital.

“Grant, wait!” Jade called.

Irritated, he looked back.

“It's . . . too late. Can't you see, can't you tell?” She shook her head, indicating the sky. “He has her,” she said softly.

Suspicion raged in him.
Who
had her? Had Jade been dogging him to keep him from realizing that Lucien was the real threat?

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded raggedly. “
Who has her
? Your so-called vampire husband?”

She shook her head. “No. François has her. François de Venue,” she told him. “And that's why you're going to need the sword.”

Stephanie was afraid she was going to pass out. She could smell the blood from the living room floor where Lena and Suzette were still strewn on the floor, naked and supine, and crawling over the body of one of the maids, tearing at her with their nails and teeth, as if they were canines or hyenas, starved for a meal.

And there was Doug, just staring at her.

“It's time for what?” she demanded. “Doug, you've got to let me by. We have to get help, and quickly.”

“No. It's time to go, Stephanie.”

“Where, Doug?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice level and calm, stalling for time. Reggie was on her way . . . except that Reggie could just become part of this travesty.

She hadn't really looked around the room—there hadn't been time, and she'd been too stunned. She hadn't seen any weapons. That thought made her feel weaker. Suzette and Lena had apparently attacked the woman with their bare hands—and teeth. And what they had done . . .

She didn't dare think about it. She had to keep her wits together. Terror was filling her. At any minute, they could turn on her.

“It's time to go,” Doug repeated again.

She kept staring at him, wishing they had thought to ask so many more questions when they were with Lucien and Jade.
Was Doug a vampire now? Was he just under some kind of influence or unholy power?

And what about the girls? Oh, God, just looking at them now . . .

“Tell me, Doug. Where do you want me to go?”

“With me.”

“Doug, we need help here,” she said very softly.

For a moment, she thought that something registered in his eyes. A form of humanity . . . as if in him, somewhere, he saw what the girls were doing, and knew that the women needed help.

No, that they
all
needed help.

But the look was quickly gone. “You must come, Stephanie. I don't want to hurt you.”

“If you don't want to—don't!” she told him.

“You have to come.”

“Doug . . . look ! For the love of God, look at Suzette and Lena!”

He did. Once again, for split seconds, she thought she had him.

But then he shrugged, and a strange, eerie smile parted his lips. “They're hungry,” he said, and it sounded as if he was nothing more than amused.

Desperately, and quickly, she assessed her situation.

Lena and Suzette—suddenly turned into bloodied, murderous, scavenging maniacs—were intent in their unholy pursuit on the living room floor. Doug blocked the main entrance.

The back. She had to get out the back. Vampires couldn't abide seawater. She remembered Lucien's arm, the way it had looked.

“All right, Doug. Just one minute,” she said.

He stood there. She turned and walked slowly, as if she was intent on seeing what the girls were doing.

Her stomach flipped.

She moved past the girls.

Only then did she run, clicking the lock on the back door, sliding the glass with a slam, and running out with the speed of the wind.

She heard him behind her. Heard him roaring out a command to Suzette and Lena that they must stop her.

She didn't dare look back.

She ran for the sea. Plunging in, she swam out.

As she had hoped, Doug stopped at the shore. He couldn't come any farther. All she had to do was stand in the surf, and he couldn't reach her. Help would come.

Soon, she prayed.

But from where he stood, Doug lifted a hand, and swept it toward the sea. Lena and Suzette, absurdly naked and bloodied, bounded in after her.

She could outswim the two, she was certain. In a parallel line, she crawled hard, diving under, swerving, trying to lose them.

They were coming after her like a pair of sharks, drawn to the scent of blood.

The salt water was stinging her eyes. At her speed, her muscles were flagging quickly.

“Stephanie!”

She heard her name called. Blinking, she tried to see to the shore. There was someone there . . . help!

If she'd listened in the first place . . .

She kicked with all her strength, trying to get in ahead of her maniacal one-time friends. Her feet hit the sand, and she started racing in, toward the man who had come to save her.

Yet...

As she reached him, she knew.

She saw the amusement in his eyes.

It was the man she had known.

And it wasn't.

He had changed. Eyes that had always been light with laughter were now that strange yellow-red that had struck her as being so unusual in Lucien's striking features. He seemed to have grown. His shoulders were broader, and the amusement in his features was touched with contempt and an air of superiority. He was simply larger.

“Ah, poor Stephanie! You had no idea. You would be thinking that such a powerful man as François de Venue would walk about as a leader of men, now as before. But you must understand. I knew that there would be someone to come and challenge my power. So . . . to stay close, what else would one do? I had to do what I did to avoid those I did not want to see, and yet so easily have invitations to enter where I wished to go! Of course, come in, please...there I was, invited! And now . . .”

He raised his arms. It seemed that a huge black cloud rose all around her.

She started to scream.

The water! She had to get back to the water.

But the girls were coming for her now, lethal sirens as they rose from the surf. She dodged, trying to seek another line of escape.

There was Doug. He walked straight up to her as she nearly plowed into him, and his hand flew hard across the back of her neck.

Stars appeared before her. She began to stagger.

Arms, draped in black, swept around her.

She heard a strange, sizzling sound. Someone . . . cursing. “Damned seawater!” came a growl of rage. And then, “Ah, but such a small price to pay. You are what I have been waiting for . . . you are what will make it complete!” she heard

She fought for consciousness in the smothering folds of darkness.

It was a losing battle.

 

 

“What do you mean, it's too late? Nothing is ever too late—it can't be too late!” Grant shouted, gripping Jade by the shoulders.

“What I mean is that you won't find her at the hospital, and we won't find her at the resort. What we have to do is find out how to get her back and why François wants her so much,” Jade told him.

“What are you two talking about?” Drew demanded. But looking from one to the other, he groaned. “Something is really going on here—more than even I know.”

“I'm going to the dig,” Grant said.

“It may not be that simple—” Jade began.

“I'm going to the dig! She's there. I just—I just know she's there.”

“All right, all right, but . . . you have to go prepared,” Jade said. “Let's get back to Lucien's cottage—I have a few things that might help you.”

“Is anyone actually going to explain this to me?” Drew pleaded.

They both looked at him, mouths opening.

“No,” they said in unison.

“The explanation is too long, and you won't believe me, anyway. If anyone tries to bite you, stab at them with this!” Jade pulled the cross she was wearing from beneath her sweater and put it over his head. “Head for seawater, if you can; but just come with us now!”

“What?” Drew gasped. “Seawater?”

“It can kill a vampire. By the way, my real name is Jade. My husband is Lucien. He's a vampire, too, but a good one.”

“What? Wait!”

But Grant and Jade were already running. He had to follow. They made it back to Grant's car. He tossed the heavy sword in back as they piled into the front. In seconds, they were back at the cottages.

The lobby was empty as they hurried through it. “I'm going to get Lena and Suzette,” Drew said.

“Do it, but watch out. And if you see Doug . . . holler for help. If anyone gives you any trouble, just start screaming,” Grant said, shouting over his shoulder as he followed Jade, right behind her as she hurried ahead to Lucien's cottage. Bursting in, she called her husband's name. There was no answer.

“Upstairs!” she said to Grant.

He followed her. She'd thrown open a suitcase on the bed. It was filled with small vials of water, heavy silver crosses, and neatly aligned wooden stakes.

Staring at it, Grant shook his head. “But I thought your husband
was
a vampire,” he said.