Deliverance (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

E
lizabeth smiled into the webcam. She’d decided to go along with Fred Smith’s request for a video call. She figured he was hoping she’d be in a hot negligee and they could mix business with pleasure. So she went one step further. She was naked, but submerged to just above her breasts in her tub.

“Good to see you, Fred.”

“You look great, Liz.”

She permitted the familiarity. He was the only man in her long life who had ever called her “Liz” and survived. She was looking forward to cutting out his tongue when the time came. She raised one of her legs from the water and turned it this way and that, as if inspecting it. Her lower leg, so recently separated from her body, showed no scars. Glancing at the monitor, she saw Fred staring with his mouth open when he thought she wasn’t looking at him.

This is too easy.

“How’s the plan coming?” he said.

“Excellent. The meeting is set up, as you insisted.”

Idiot.

Fred had a smug look on his face. He’d wanted a face-to-face meeting with Maliha. Elizabeth had said no at first, then let him seem powerful and get his way.

It doesn’t do any harm. Both of these people are under my thumb anyway. Or will be soon.

“Good. Uh, Liz, that isn’t blood in your bathwater, is it?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Why would you think that?”

“Just something that popped into my mind because of the color.”

“Oh, silly. You mean this?” She held up a handful of water and dripped it between her breasts. “It’s a special oil for my skin. I have it custom-made. If you were here, you’d know that it smells like roses.” She stood up, with the red water streaming down her body. “It keeps my skin clear and soft all over. More pleasant for you to touch. I wish you were here. . . .”

The bath servant turned off the computer and then held a thick white robe for Elizabeth. She stepped out of the tub and wrapped up in the robe. There was a body hanging over the base of the tub like an upside-down doll, broken and battered, her throat wound hanging open like a bloody frown. Elizabeth caressed the girl’s blood-spattered cheek.

You were sweet, little Katie, but ten-year-olds just don’t have enough blood.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“D
amn, when you pick ’em, you really pick ’em,” Hound said. “This bitch Elizabeth is straight from hell.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Details?” Maliha said.

“Her name is Countess Elizabeth Báthory. She was born in 1560 and came by her title honestly, as a member of the Hungarian nobility. She had a political marriage at the age of fifteen to a man who spent a lot of time away as a commander in the military. She was left with the castle and the villages that came with it, and spent more time managing the home front than her husband did.”

“She’s used to getting her way. I can vouch for that,” Maliha said.

“Now the bad news. Elizabeth is the world’s most prolific female serial killer. She slaughtered over six hundred young girls and women, almost all virgins, most of them after her husband died. I guess her husband kept her in check while he was alive.”

“I thought you said he was gone most of the time,” Amaro said.

“Maybe he threatened her or hired someone to make sure she didn’t express her murderous traits. She did have an outlet for violence, though. It was okay in those days to treat your peasant servants cruelly. The aristocracy didn’t care and the peasants had no recourse.”

“Basically slavery,” Maliha said. Her cheeks burned. She lived through slavery on the wrong side of freedom. As a demon’s slave, she did things that were now abhorrent to her.

“Yup. Then when her husband died and the restraints were gone, Elizabeth started out by holding classes at her castle for daughters of the aristocracy, promising to give them all the skills to be proper young ladies. Only the young ladies didn’t return to their families. They were beaten and tortured with everything a sadistic imagination could come up with. Razors, red-hot pokers, knives. The wellborn families became alarmed after too many ‘accidents’ at the castle and refused to send their daughters.”

“I know they weren’t big on autopsies then, but wouldn’t the mutilated corpses give away what was going on?” Maliha said.

“The accidents were probably things like being mauled to death by a horse or burned, things that covered up the physical evidence of torture. Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Amaro said.

Hound continued. “Once the supply of daughters of her peers dried up, she enticed young peasant girls with the promise of high-paying positions as maidservants in the castle. Parents must have pushed their girls out the door for that. At least, until those girls started disappearing by the hundreds. Elizabeth had accomplices who helped her obtain girls by force if she couldn’t get them by subterfuge.”

“Didn’t anyone speak up for the peasants?” Amaro said.

“It took a while for anyone with some power to notice. There was so much outcry that word finally reached the king, who was a relative of hers. I guess he didn’t like a family member of his having the moniker of ‘Blood Countess.’ He sent a court representative to ferret out the truth—his cousin, I think. Essentially it was damage control. A small force of men invaded her castle at night and found the grisly proof. All of the accomplices were executed, naturally, but the king refused to even bring Elizabeth to trial.”

“What? That’s carrying nepotism a bit far!” Amaro said.

“One of the bennies of being king. He didn’t want any more fuss, though, so he had her bricked into a room in her castle with a small hatch to take care of necessities. She died four years later.”

“Except that she’s Ageless now. I can see how a demon would be drawn to her! It’s horrible to know what we’re up against,” Maliha said.

“All of that’s historical fact,” Hound said. “Now we get to the interesting legends. Elizabeth was a vain woman always concerned about her appearance. One day when she was beating a servant girl, the girl’s blood landed on the back of Elizabeth’s hand. She felt her skin was rejuvenated in that spot. Smoother, softer, whatever. So she decided that if a few drops worked well, a lot of blood would work even better. She began drinking and bathing in her victims’ blood to preserve her youth and beauty.”

“The demons must have been fighting over her,” Maliha said.

“Besides being called the Blood Countess, she’s also known as Lady Dracula,” Hound said. “Did I mention she’s from Transylvania?”

“Seriously?” Amaro said.

Hound nodded. “And she has her fangs in our friend.”

Maliha hesitated. She didn’t know what, if anything, to reveal about her contact with Yanmeng.

It brought happiness to me, so I should share it.

“I want to tell you something about Yanmeng,” Maliha said. “He’s alive. I know it for certain.”

Hound sat down on the couch, put his elbows on his knees, and supported his head in his hands. Amaro’s eyes flashed with hope that Maliha hadn’t noticed was missing.

“How?” Amaro said.

“It was a brief mind contact, mostly Yanmeng’s doing, I’m sure.” She felt strange talking about an experience that was intensely private to her.

Hound looked up. “He can tell you where he is, then.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned this.

“No. All I got was an image of him, not where he is now or anything else helpful. It was the mental image of ourselves we all carry around. You know, years younger, no flaws, not the version of what we see in the mirror now. But there’s no way I could have gotten that if he was . . .”

“Dead and refrigerated to keep the parts fresh?” Hound said.

Maliha nodded. “You thought of that too.”

“Eliu has to hear this,” Amaro said. He knocked at her door but she didn’t answer.

“She could be asleep,” Hound said. “I’ll call her cell phone.”

When there was no answer, Maliha was worried. She tried the doorknob and found the door locked.

“Stand back,” Hound said. He was going to rush the door.

“Stop! This is my home. I don’t need any smashed doors. Give me a minute.”

She was back from her bedroom in a few seconds and picked the lock even faster. Maliha opened the door cautiously. “Eliu, it’s Maliha. I’m coming in.”

The room was dark. Light-blocking shades were pulled down. Hound and Amaro were crowding Maliha’s back, wanting into the room. She flipped on the light switch, hoping she wasn’t going to find Eliu’s dead body.

The room was empty. The attached bathroom was empty.

It was a relief in one way, worrisome in another. Maliha rounded on her two companions. “Where did she go?”

Hound shook his head. Amaro shrugged his shoulders.

“You were here, right? When I took my break and went to the haven?”

“Of course we were,” Amaro said.

“Then what the hell happened? Oh, I see, you were each in your rooms working.”

“Damn,” Hound said.

“Hall cameras,” Amaro said. He rushed over to the laptop and played back the last hour at high speed. The door opened and Eliu walked out, wearing a long gray coat and a scarf over her hair.

“At least we know she left under her own free will. Get me a photo that shows her face,” Maliha said. After tucking a ceramic knife in her hair, disguised as an ornament at the top of her braid, she took the photo and went to talk to Chick. He was standing right inside the front entrance, taking a break from the cold.

“Have you seen . . .” Maliha said.

“This nice lady? Sure,” Chick said. “She was here about a half hour ago. I hailed her a cab.”

“Do you know where . . .”

“The Art Institute. I told her it closed at five and she should save her money and go tomorrow when there was more time, but she didn’t want to hear it.”

It was 4:30
P.M.
now. “Thanks, Chick. You’ve been very helpful.”

“You know, I could probably be even more helpful. You and I should have a talk sometime.”

“I agree, but this isn’t the time.” Maliha called Hound and told him where she was going, then started to walk outside.

“Call you a cab?” Chick said.

“No, I’m . . . going for a walk.”

“You’re gonna need something warm. Hold on a second.” He rummaged in the Lost and Found box at his station and came up with a dark blue jacket with two pockets and a hood. “This looks like it’ll do the job. Keep your head warm, too.” He raised his eyes to the ornament in her hair and winked at her. “See ya later.”

She slipped on the jacket and walked out to the rear of the building. The loading dock door was closed and there was no one around. In privacy, she took off running at Ageless speed so no one would see her vanish. The museum was close, on South Michigan in Grant Park. She could get there much faster on foot than in a cab in rush-hour traffic. Weaving among the pedestrians and the cars in the street slowed her down, but still Maliha was there in less than five minutes. She raced up the steps between the bronze lion statues and headed for the stone arches of the entryway. Inside, she failed to stop and show her membership card at the desk.

Where would she go? Assuming the cab even brought her here. Yanmeng likes the Asian collection.

She headed for that gallery and slowed to a walk as she neared it. The space was beautiful, with lighted glass cases and other displays leading the visitor from one room to the next. Eliu sat on a bench in front of a case of thousand-year-old vases, and they had her rapt attention. One like them must have had some significance for her. Maliha looked around the room. There were three other people browsing and a guard in the doorway. It was near closing time and most visitors had left. None of the browsers looked threatening. Maliha walked through the room and checked the next one. It was empty. She put her head through the doorway to look into the room beyond. Her breath caught in her lungs and stayed there, and her heart pounded against her ribs. A chill climbed her spine like a ladder.

Moe, Curly, and Larry were in the room, and they were armed.

How did they get those weapons in here?

“Hey!” Larry said. He’d spotted her. She pulled her head back just in time. Automatic gunfire tore into the wall, gouging chunks from the corner where she’d been.

The museum guard, following the sound, came running into the room where Maliha was. His gun was drawn and he was running straight into an ambush. She ran toward him and put out her arm when he was right next to her. He wasn’t expecting it and her arm slammed into him at chest height. She spun slightly with his momentum, or she would have crushed his chest. Instead, he crumpled to the floor with a few broken ribs. She snatched the gun from his hand and hit him with enough force to knock him out.

I hope Eliu gets out of here while they’re distracted.

She yanked the guard by his arms, dragged him to the side of the room, and shoved him under a bench where he’d be out of the line of fire.

Best I can do, buddy. Why aren’t the Stooges in here yet? I’m sure one look at me didn’t scare them off.

Maliha flattened her body against the wall of the room and inched toward the door opening. There wasn’t much time left before other guards arrived. She didn’t want to be holding the unconscious guard’s gun when that happened—she’d be mistaken for one of the bad guys. It looked like she would have to take the fight to them.

Maliha changed her approach to the door so she’d be going in at an angle. She ran through the door, assessed the situation rapidly, and planted a bullet in Curly’s forehead before diving to the floor and rolling. Automatic fire screamed through the room. Glass cases shattered, triggering security alarms. Two hot lines of pain streaked across her shoulder. Still on the floor and in motion, Maliha crashed into Larry’s legs from behind, grabbed him and pulled him down on his knees. She turned his gun on Moe and squeezed his finger on the trigger. Moe went down in a haze of red mist, a zipper stitched across his midsection. Larry was struggling in her grip. She pulled the ceramic knife from her hair and slit his throat. He slumped to the floor. She slid the knife into a pocket of her jacket.

The whole thing was over in seconds. A glance at the guard under the bench showed that there were four casualties in the room. The initial burst of gunfire must have caused a few bullets to ricochet in his direction.

Maliha left the way she came, running so fast that she passed several guards coming to the scene as a rush of air.

M
aliha walked most of the way home. Her shoulder was hurting but there was no one following her. The sun had been setting when she left, and now it was nearly dark. She stayed off the major streets and didn’t linger under streetlights. Her scale rewarded her for the deaths of Moe, Curly, and Larry. Anu didn’t penalize her for the death of the innocent guard because he’d been killed by Moe or Larry.

Chick opened the door for her. “Hey, are you all right?”

The jacket he’d lent her was torn and bloody where she’d been hit.

“I kind of ripped it,” she said, taking off the jacket. Chick saw the knife and said nothing. She wiped it clean on the jacket and tucked it back into her hair.

He stared at the blood on her shoulder. “Should I call an ambulance?”