Immortal Obsession (11 page)

Chapter Fourteen

R
OSS PUT HIS
phone on speaker as one message after another droned on. Open case files covered his desk underneath his usual dinner of Chicken Quesadillas. The last message was from Christian. It was urgent which made his stomach knot. Something was up and Ross did not understand it which meant it made him angry. It started last summer with Ryan Perretti’s gruesome murder and continued with the splay of files on his desk. What linked them to these vampires Ross could not even imagine, but there was a connection.

Although he liked Christian, Ross tried to keep a healthy distance from the other vampires, especially Michel. It was not that he did not get along with Michel. It was more like Michel was a guard dog, forever protecting Christian, although he needed no protecting. Christian refuted Ross’s perception that Michel was jealous of their friendship.

Something was happening in a world Ross had only touched on through his friendship with Christian. It was more than supernatural, it was super scary and he preferred to be left out of their business. Vampires monitored their own affairs and remained phantoms in his city which was fine with Ross, but when their prey ended up in a file on his desk, then the lines became blurred and he was forced to investigate.

The body count was growing as the corpses of more homeless people were turning up. Though he had to admit it was alarming, the only thing keeping the city off his back was the fact that the bodies were nameless, faceless indigents. Amanda was right. Nobody gave a crap. Though Ryan was murdered violently, the fact that he was homeless and a heroin addict put him at the bottom of the priority list. His murder would never be solved because there were too many others to take its place.

He had just taken a sip of his coffee and was about to call his girlfriend Melinda, when he felt them enter his office like a wisp of smoke under the door. The overhead switch went off. His desk lamp shed the only light in his office. The growing knot in his stomach just got tighter.

“Detective,” Christian purred as he sat down in the wooden chair facing Ross’s desk. Michel stood beside him in a floor-length black leather coat. Ross instinctively called the front desk and asked them to hold his calls. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee and a deep breath. Melinda would have to wait.

“To what do I owe the honor, gentlemen?”

Christian crossed one leg over his knee. “We need your help.”

“You need my help?” He chuckled, taking another sip of coffee. “What is it, another body in a dumpster?”

Neither vampire laughed. He put his coffee cup down and decided to go with his hunch.

“Does this have something to do with all the bodies turning up in the park because I could use some help here myself.” He gestured to the files strewn all over his desk.

“Indirectly, yes.” Christian flipped his hair behind him. “After we met the other night, I patrolled the entire park looking for anything unusual. I ran across an acquaintance … another vampire, who told me an interesting story. Apparently he has made friends with some of the indigents and is panicked now that they are disappearing at such an alarming rate.”

Michel interrupted his best friend. “It seems there is a vampire named Thomas who has scared the shit out of some of our kind, which isn’t an easy thing to do. Our friend Peter said this vampire just showed up one night.”

“Well,” Ross shrugged, “if you know who he is, why can’t you take care of him?” He took another sip of coffee and put the lid on to keep it warm.

Christian folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not that simple, Ross.”

Ross studied their masklike faces. He knew full well that nothing was simple in their world. “What am I missing here?”

Michel moved to sit on the edge of his desk, his long legs melting into the shadows. “He’s both a night and a day walker.”

Ross instinctively reached for a cigarette then stopped himself. “What?” He looked to Christian for validation.

“You remember meeting Peter, Ross? He told me that Thomas has been approaching the homeless men in broad daylight.”

Ross had met Peter briefly one night when he was walking with Christian in Central Park. He had had a hard time believing he was a vampire until he picked up a park bench and threw it twenty feet into the air just to demonstrate his prowess. Ross had been duly impressed.

“But I thought it was impossible for vampires to be in the sunlight?”

“We are wondering if Thomas may be a vampire whose real name is Gaétan. Someone, Michel and I knew a long time ago in France. If my hunch is correct then he is responsible for ordering the death of Ryan Perretti and we believe he is now here to slaughter Amanda.”

Ross leaned back again. “So why would a vampire from Paris come all to our fair city to murder homeless people, I mean there must be plenty of them in Paris?”

“It’s a complicated story, Detective.” Michel twirled a strand of his hair.

“I think he works in the Met, Ross—” Christian blurted out.

“The Metropolitan Museum of Art?” Ross shook his head in disbelief. He looked between both vampires.

They stared back at him intently. They weren’t joking.

“Not to burst your bubble, but even if I found this guy, I don’t have the right to question him without just cause. This is America, remember.”

“I know that. I watch CSI and Law & Order.” Michel snapped.

“What if I gave you a sketch of him?” Christian asked. “You must have some contacts in the museum? Couldn’t you say he was being investigated for…. I don’t know, something criminal?”

“What about Ms. Perretti?” Ross smiled. “I am sure she would be more than willing to assist you in your investigation.”

“She is already involved enough. There has to be a way to get you in there, Ross.”

Michel sat down in the other chair in front of Ross’s desk, causing Ross to sit back out of fear. “Commit a robbery. Our good friend Detective Ross would have to investigate.”

Ross shook his head. “I never heard you say that, Michel.”

Christian sat down again, too. “Wait a minute, Ross, Michel has a point. He’s there, I can feel it. We just have to flush him out.”

“Christian, listen to me—”

“No, you listen to me, Detective. We’ll do our part and don’t worry. Whatever I take will be returned—”

“I don’t want to know, Christian.”

Christian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a yellow envelope then tossed it across the desk.

Ross opened it carefully after he pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his top shirt pocket.

“He’s young and innocent-looking, but he’s a monster, Detective.” Michel pointed over the detective’s shoulder.

“Definitely boyish looking, yeah check out those dimples,” Ross joked. The young man in the drawing was model handsome. He had a wide sensual mouth and a devilish smile. His light hair, parted in the middle, fell to his shoulders brushing a lace collar.

“What color are his eyes? How tall is he?” Ross asked grabbing a legal pad.

“His eyes are brown and he’s only 5’7”.” Michel answered smugly.

“This is professional quality, Christian. Who did this?”

Michel grabbed the sketch from the detective and pointed to Christian. “He was a rich painter with a studio on the Rue de Rivoli.”

Christian grabbed the sketch and handed it back to Ross. “Is this enough to go on? He would look exactly the same, only his clothes would be different.”

“Yeah, I think I could make a positive ID based on this likeness.”

“Good.” Christian smiled, towering over Ross. “Don’t get too close to him. Just try to get an address on him, find out what he does in the museum, anything we could go on. He has to be living somewhere. Don’t try to be heroic. If he can read you, you’re dead.”

Ross looked up at the towering vampires sheepishly. “How will I know if he can read me?”

“He’ll rip your throat out,” Michel chuckled. “You won’t stand a chance.”

Once they were gone, Ross slumped down in his chair, and stared at the drawing, wondering how he had gotten involved in their lives again. Suddenly he gagged and almost missed his waste paper basket.

Chapter Fifteen

A
MANDA HAD GIVEN
herself twenty-four hours and then decided it was time, yet as she peered out of the idling cab across the street from the Grey Wolf she suddenly had doubts. She had vowed to give it one more chance, and if Christian rejected her … well, she would think up something else. The biting wind stung her face as she ran across the street in her high heels.

She felt overdressed, but had feared she would lose her nerve if she stopped at home to change, so she pulled her long wool coat around her to hide her suit. There was no one out front, so she took a deep breath and opened the door. It was early by club standards, only nine o’clock. Loud music blared from the main bar as she scanned the room quickly.

There were a few people at the bar, but no Christian or Michel. The bartender was a tall, moon-faced boy with strawberry blonde hair that just touched his shoulders. As she approached he turned his electric blue eyes on her and she felt herself shake. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Hi, I’m looking for Christian or Michel.”

He scanned her from head to toe, and Amanda wondered if he thought she was from the IRS or some equally terrifying entity.

“And you are?” He asked in a soft voice with a touch of a French accent

“Amanda … Amanda Perretti,” she replied slowly, annunciating each syllable. A lacy shirt framed his pale chest covered in numerous necklaces. She thought it odd for a man, yet there was nothing feminine about him.

He dropped the towel on the bar and disappeared without a word. She turned away and studied the small group of dancers on the dance floor and the few patrons at the bar.
What’s the worst that could happen, he yells at me again?
She glanced down at her watch just as the bartender approached her again.

“He’ll be right out. Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure, a glass of Merlot would be great.”

She watched him pour, not sure who he was referring to but too full of pride to ask. “So are you a friend of theirs as well?”

“We all go back a long way.” He smiled and handed her a drink.

“Keep your money, it’s on me.”

Amanda shoved her money back into her pocket. “Thank you. And you are?”

“Sabin.” He nodded, wiping the counter but never taking his eyes off her.

“Bon jour, Ms. Perretti.”

She turned to find Michel approaching her. He was wearing a short black jacket and black jeans with each pant leg cut horizontally below the crotch, exposing his long white legs through the shredded black fabric. The look was strangely erotic.

Michel leaned against the bar, studying her. “So, you’ve come back for more.”

“Is he not here or is he avoiding me?”

He smiled down at her. “Both, actually.”

“I have to see him again. You’re his friend, can’t you talk to him?”

Michel laughed, spinning a clean beer glass on the bar.

“If you knew Christian the way I know him, you would understand that once he makes up his mind there is no changing it. What is so important that you can’t stay away?”

Amanda took a sip of her wine and a deep breath.

“This may sound crazy but my fate is tied to him.”

The beer glass slipped out of his hands and rolled toward her wine glass. Michel tried to grab both glasses before they shattered, but he was too late. Wine spilled and glass flew everywhere as a large chunk sliced his palm.

“Oh my god, you’re hurt.” Amanda fumbled for a napkin as Sabin tossed him a towel.

Michel wrapped the towel around his hand. “I’ll be fine, Amanda, its okay.”

Sabin rushed to clean up the broken glass before she could help.

“You might need a couple of stitches. That is one nasty cut.”

She tried to take a look, but he pulled his hand away.

“Now where were we my dear?” He sat down next to her, tossing the towel down on the counter.

She impulsively grabbed his hand and turned it over; there was no blood and no gash. “That’s strange. It seems to have stopped bleeding.”

She looked from Michel to Sabin who said nothing.

“How is that possible?” She tried to get up but Michel grabbed her hand.

“Don’t make a scene.” He dragged her away from the bar and down a dark hallway. “We must talk privately.”

Before she could put up a fight Michel opened a door and gestured for her to enter. “I will answer all your questions. Please step inside… this is our office.”

Amanda’s heart was racing and she suddenly felt nauseous.
This can’t be happening, but it is and I knew there was something different about them. No one’s hand can heal like that unless. …

Amanda scanned the dark office, keeping an eye on Michel. “I think I need to sit down.”

He gestured toward the couch. She took in the modern furniture and the prints of the world’s two most famous parks. They were beautiful, but the room was too dark and cave-like for her tastes.

The ticking of the desk clock pulsed in her ears. “How did your hand heal so fast?”

His silence unnerved her as he sat on the edge of the desk. He seemed to hesitate and then he smiled down at her. “I am a vampire, Amanda.”

She chuckled nervously as the images of Antoine snarling at her with visible fangs and Lucien tasting her brother’s blood came to mind. As unbelievable as it seemed to her, it was the only explanation that made sense.

“Are all of you…. I mean Antoine, Lucien….and Christian?” She forced the words out, fearing the truth.

“Don’t forget Sabin.”

“Oh my God.” She stood up, but he beat her to the door.

Her voice caught in her throat. “What do you want from me?”

His strong hands held her steady by her shoulders. “Perhaps the question is what is it you want from Christian?”

She was mesmerized by his green eyes, not sure if trusting him was a good thing, but she had been searching for answers for so long now. “Why did that vampire kill my brother?”

Michel hesitated. “That is not for me to tell you.” He brushed a strand of dark hair from her face.

“I need to talk to Christian but since he isn’t here I have a letter for him. Will you give it to him..?. Do you really drink blood?”

“We need very little to survive at our age.”

She had so many questions; her head was spinning, but she could not formulate the words. To ask questions mean to confirm a reality that both intrigued and terrified her. Amanda had felt as if she had been living a dream since that night in the tunnel.
This really can’t be happening to me.
Michel looked no older than she did, but his eyes spoke of pain and experience way beyond the comprehension of a twenty-seven-year-old.

She heard the questions come out before she could suck them back. “How old are you? Where did you come from?”

He paused, staring past her. “Christian and I took our last breath in Meudon, France, on March 3, 1757.”

“March third? That’s my birthday.” Amanda shook as she opened her purse. “Will you take this for me?”

She held a letter in her hands.

“How badly do you want him?”

She felt herself blush as if he had read her mind. “I need to see him Michel.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Nineteen East 83rd Street. It’s a limestone townhouse. Drop it in the brass mail slot. He’ll get it. Now go.”

Amanda handed the taxi driver the fare and jumped out of the cab on the corner of East 83rd Street and Fifth Avenue. Pulling her coat closer in an attempt to shield herself from the biting wind, she began to walk back up the street. Like a predator stalking its prey, she passed number Nineteen then stopped at the brick townhouse next door. This block was her usual route to the subway, one of the most beautiful streets on the Upper East Side. She passed his house again.
He lives here
, she thought, gathering the nerve to finally stop in front of the gate.

The limestone townhouse was narrow, fitting the architecture of the time, yet elegant with three sets of ascending windows supported by alternating Doric and Corinthian columns. Both the windows and the columns got smaller at the fourth floor, which Amanda presumed was an attic. Its small windows looked like eyes peering down at the passersby.

A room on the first floor was lit up, as was a room on the third floor. For a second she thought she saw Christian peering down at her, framed in the second floor window, but the image was fleeting and she guessed that perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part.

Catching her breath, she opened the wrought iron gate and climbed the three steps. She pulled the letter from her purse and went to slip it in the mail slot, then stopped herself.

What harm could it do to ring the bell?

Amanda hesitantly rang the front door bell. Running her tongue over her lips to check if her lipstick was still on, she took another deep breath. She was shivering, although she wasn’t sure if it was the cold or her nerves.
Oh my god, suppose he answers the door. What do I say?
She took another deep breath as the front door opened.

“Hi,” she smiled, not sure who she was expecting on the other side. He was not much older than she was, with fair skin and faint traces of acne scars on his cheeks. Thin, dirty blond hair that almost matched his skin tone fell to his shoulders. He wore all black with a large silver hoop earring in his left ear.

“Hi, I was wondering if Christian was home. My name is Amanda Perretti. I was just at the Grey Wolf and Michel thought I should drop by to see him in person.” She clutched her shoulder bag for support and extended her gloved right hand.

He stood in the doorway, blocking her entry into the warm foyer. “What is it you want?”

“I told you, I want to see Christian if he’s home. Please, it’s cold out here.”

She pushed past him into the dimly lit foyer. The large crystal chandelier looked well over a hundred years old. Light reflected off the crystals onto the shiny, cherry-wood floor, covered with a lush oriental carpet. Marbleized sea green walls surrounded her and the room smelled like an old bookstore, a scent Amanda found familiar.

This is the most beautiful house I have ever been in. It is like a museum.

Lining one wall were some tiny paintings by old masters such as Bernardo Strozzi, Salomon Van Ruysdael, and Jean-Francois De Troy. She stopped in front of a massive still-life painting that hung over a Queen Anne side table. A bust by a French sculptor sat on the table along with various shapes and sizes of ceramic vases.

The waif who let her in came up behind her, leaving the front door open. “You can’t come in here. No one is allowed—”

She looked him right in the eye. She had come too far to be turned away by anyone, especially a kid.

“Is he home? If so, get him.”

“Who the hell do you think you are to order me around?”

“I’m not leaving until I see him, so scat.” She could not believe how brazen she was being, but she was desperate and this kid was not going to scare her away.

She suddenly felt a presence roll up against her, like someone had just turned on a fan. As she turned around there he was standing behind her.

“It’s alright, Tony; now close the door, its cold.”

Tony sauntered toward the front door and slammed it shut with the back of his hand.

“Hello.” He whispered in a soft, deep voice. He was dressed in a pair of brown jeans and a long sleeved white shirt. She noticed that he wore cowboy boots. His clothes appeared so average compared to last night that she had trouble believing what Michel had told her. Maybe he was just a guy with a trust fund that allowed him to collect antiquities and fine art, but she knew better. He was different. The glow from the chandelier illuminated his hair which hid half his face in shadows

“Tony, would you please show Ms. Perretti into the library.”

Tony rolled his eyes and led her through a set of French doors into a sitting room with overstuffed furniture, a roaring fireplace, and one entire wall filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He was gone before she had a chance to chide him for his rude behavior.

Amanda could not get over all the old books. She felt like an addict unable to get enough. First she took one book off the shelf to skim, and then reluctantly put it back, only to grab another to leaf through. There was a book on the French Revolution that she recognized by the title, and another on Marie Antoinette that caught her attention. It did not matter that they were all in French. They called to her from another time and place.

Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda thought she recognized a book she had found on her desk last March. It was written anonymously about the intimate lives of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. She had used it in her research. She impulsively grabbed it off the shelf, wondering if there could be two editions of such a rare book.

She began to flip through it, remembering how difficult it had been to get translated. Her boss Cole had helped her a bit, but had left her with most of it to translate on her own. This was before she had met Thomas, and it had been a difficult project for her. As she turned another page a small yellow piece of paper fell out of the book. It floated down to the carpet like a feather.