Immortal Obsession (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

T
HE
M
ANHATTAN
C
LUB
sat on the corner of West 57
^th
and Broadway. The luxury hotel had a beautiful after-hours club that reminded Christian of the Oak Room in the historic Plaza Hotel.

As Christian approached it seemed that the condensation on the front windows made the patrons inside appear to be no more than colored shadows, barely visible through the glass. As he stepped inside the dimly lit bar, their conversations buzzed in his head. He could smell Ross already here, in his usual spot away from the crowd.

A balding, middle aged maître d’ greeted him with barely any eye contact before turning on his heels. Christian followed him past the overstuffed couches and potted palms toward the back of the large room. He made a sharp right toward a private corner, stopping just short of an occupied couch.

This was their usual spot, away from the prying eyes and ears of the masses who could not take their eyes off the stunning vampire.

Ross’s usual martini sat on the coffee table. Christian took a seat on the green velvet couch opposite him. He tried to lean back against the couch, but the sharp machete forced him to sit upright.

“Why don’t you take it off and make yourself comfortable?” Ross smiled and took a sip of his drink.

Christian slipped off his leather coat and tossed it on the couch next to him. He scanned the room and then, in a motion Ross could not follow, slid the threatening blade from behind his back and shoved it under the couch cushion. He adjusted his shirt just as the familiar waiter approached

“The usual?” He asked, giving the vampire a weak smile.

“Please.” Christian nodded. Although he could no longer eat or drink, he had never lost his love of Cognac. Prior to tonight, it had been months since he had spoken with the detective. He set his cell phone on the dark wood table next to Ross’s.

After the waiter left, Christian lifted the glass in a toast, as Ross raised his as well. Then the vampire set it back down on the table. Crossing one leg over his other knee, Christian sat back against the couch. The soft velvet felt good against his skin, and the darkness soothed him. As far as a mortal hangout went, the Manhattan Club was alright.

Ross swallowed the last of his martini.

“If you see the waiter, flag him down, okay?”

“I’ll do better than that, Ross. I’ll plant the seed.” Christian telepathically connected with the waiter and suggested he bring another drink.

“Man.” Ross chuckled after the waiter had deposited a second martini, “If I had your gifts, I would be getting more ass than a toilet seat.”

“Wrong vampire,” Christian smirked, referring to Michel. Christian had fantasized about taking blood from Ross, but he was a friend. A friend he knew would bend his neck without thinking twice about it. Michel was the only male Christian ever took blood from; the act was so intimate that he could not imagine crossing that line with another man.

“You lucky bastards.” Ross grinned, shaking his head as he picked up his drink and met the vampire’s brown eyes. Christian knew Ross was intrigued and was always trying to imagine what life must truly be like for a vampire. Handling the investigation at the Grey Wolf early last summer had given him an up close and personal look at their lifestyle. Ross had mentioned to Christian that he likened it to being a famous celebrity, glamorous and exciting at first, then alarming and disturbing in the long run. Christian liked the analogy. Christian impulsively sniffed his drink, waiting for Ross to tell him the real reason for his call

“Speaking of luck, imagine, running right into Amanda Perretti tonight? How is that for a coincidence?” Ross smiled.

“Yes, it was quite the twist of fate.”

“Twist of fate, man. I could feel the vibes between you both. I thought you said you could hypnotize humans.”

Christian shrugged, flipping his hair behind him. Yes, there
were
vibes between them, and it terrified him.

“She always stuck to her story of seeing you in the park. Hey, you can’t blame the girl for wanting to see you up close and personal.” He began to stir his martini.

“Now, I need you to tell me the real reason we’re here, Ross.”

Ross put the martini glass down and leaned closer.

“Every winter we find homeless people frozen to death in the park. It happens, you know? We try to round ’em all up when it gets really cold, but sometimes we miss a few.”

He took a sip of his martini.

“Anyway, about a week ago I was reviewing a list of case files from the past six months with one of the other shift officers. It’s standard procedure kind of stuff, but I noticed that certain case files are still open, which means there is an ongoing murder investigation. When I questioned Briggs, he explained that these victims were found in the park … and that someone thought maybe they hadn’t frozen to death after all.”

Christian leaned closer; he tried to pick up the detective’s thoughts but Ross was one of those rare mortals he could not read. Whenever he tried he got static, like turning a radio dial too quickly. Ross’s thoughts were jumbled and incoherent to Christian.

“How many people are we talking about, Ross?”

Ross swallowed an olive. “Enough to suggest a pattern.”

Christian’s dark stare compelled him to keep talking.

“The rate of decomposition indicates the presence of maggots inside the body. Maggots feed off tissue, using the body cavity for warmth. When we tried to thaw the bodies, they basically caved in on themselves due to the lack of a solid infrastructure.” Ross made a crushing gesture with his hands.

“I don’t follow you.”

“There was massive blood loss yet no apparent fatal wound.

These victims probably died last fall and were left in the park, so their decomposed remains froze.”

“But you just said that these were homeless people who had no money or other valuables. What could they possibly have that anyone would want to kill them for?”

Christian flashed back to his early days in Paris when he and Michel had been young vampires just learning how to master their craving for blood. Poverty and disease had left thousands of children orphaned and abandoned in the city, and they had survived on them. He and Michel had stayed especially close to hospitals. From there they could whisk ailing children away in the night. They were going to die anyway, Gabrielle had reminded them, and no one would miss them. Christian had hated her for being right, yet hunting the weak and the sick had soothed his conscience back then, making the slaughter easier. He knew vampires who killed for the mere sport of it, just because they had the power. Like Gaétan, Gabrielle, or Solange. But he was not one of them.

A sudden chill brought him back to the present.

“They were drained of their blood, weren’t they?” Christian asked, trying to speak softly.

“We found little in any of the bodies.”

“Are you suggesting this is another Diane Reese situation?”

Christian could hear Ross’s heart rate accelerating and could smell fear on him.

“I am not suggesting anything, Christian, just giving you the facts.”

Christian could still see her; contorted, naked and drained of all blood, lying in a dumpster behind the Grey Wolf. A tall blonde; nothing special. Ross said she had a history of drug abuse and no family to speak of. Her name was Diane Reese and she had joined the ranks of the disposable ones and become another statistic. Ross had been able to connect her murder to a psychotic homeless man who had been terrorizing women in the area, instead of to an inexperienced young vampire.

“Where in the park were they found?” Christian whispered, afraid of the answer.

“Mostly in the ravine section. You know, it’s so remote up there that we don’t patrol it daily like we do the more populated areas of the park.”

Christian leaned so close to the detective he could smell his deodorant. “You know that my kind have been hunting in the park since I came here at the turn of the century. Most vampires will do anything in their power to remain anonymous and unknown. We have a very strong self-preservation streak. This is not good news.”

“Well, whoever is doing this obviously either doesn’t know the rules or doesn’t give a shit about getting caught. Anyone you know from out of town that might be—”

Christian was up before Ross could finish his sentence. He slipped the machete back into place and had his coat on before Ross could say another word.

“What is it?” Ross asked, trying to stop the vampire from slipping past him.

“I hope my instincts are wrong. I’ll call you.”

Then the vampire was gone, leaving Ross alone with his martini and the check.

After calling Michel to relate his conversation with Ross, Christian combed the entire park. He was looking for something unusual—a smell or a feeling from one of the old ones—but he sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Once in the ravine, a private and rustic section of the park, he took out his machete. Since the elevation was below the regular grade of the park, the skyline was lost from view making the paths harder to navigate for the average mortal. Christian had no trouble following the pathways that had no street lamps, and his keen ears could hear the babbling loch up ahead, not yet frozen.

He suddenly sensed something up ahead: an energy that belonged to only one being; a vampire. Looking closely, he saw him on the wooden bridge, silhouetted by two giant red oak trees. He sensed curiosity more than anything else from the other immortal, but held on to his machete nonetheless. Christian knew most of the other vampires in the city, but he usually chose to keep his distance from them.

“Christian, is that you?” A high-pitched male voice with a British accent called out in the darkness.

“Peter?” The vampire lowered his machete and moved closer. The spark from a cigarette lighter illuminated a plain face with shaggy brown hair and dull blue eyes. In a down coat, blue jeans, and sneakers, Peter looked more like a tourist than a vampire. Christian put the machete back in its sling.

“Jesus Christ, I hope you weren’t planning to use that on me?” He exhaled, shoving the cigarettes back in his coat pocket.

“What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same thing Christian. Walking around the ravine waving your weapon seems just a little foreboding, wouldn’t you say?” He exhaled quickly.

Christian and Michel had met Peter in the 1960s. He had been a mortal from Britain who came to America for a rock festival.

He had met up with a roadie vampire at Woodstock who changed his life forever. He was harmless, but Christian could not help but wonder what he was doing here. He stopped just shy of the center of the bridge, giving Peter space, a sign of respect and no harm intended.

“I suppose so. I haven’t seen you since last fall. Michel and I thought you might have gone back across the pond.”

“How is Michel these days, still gorgeous beyond belief?”

Christian shrugged. “Some things never change.”

Peter began pacing. Christian had always known him to be restless. In fact, he seemed to have adopted more human qualities than vampire traits, even more so than Michel. His pacing and smoking reminded Christian of Ross or any other high-strung New Yorker living in such a stressful age.

“How are things, Peter? You seem a bit agitated tonight.”

Christian came closer and leaned against the carved wooden railing on the bridge. The sound of the water running under the bridge soothed him.

“I don’t know,” the other vampire said with a shrug. “I just came back tonight to have a look around. I’ve been hanging out in Battery Park since this bloke showed up here. Gave me the creeps, he did—”

“Was he a vampire or just your typical New York psycho?”

Peter stamped out his cigarette then lit another one. “He’s one of us, but as soon as I saw him I knew something wasn’t right about him. I said to myself, ‘Peter, this bastard would cut out your heart and shit in the hole if it pleased him.’ Then some of the old-timers here started disappearing—”

“Mortals?” Christian asked, sniffing the darkness but sensing no other presence there.

“Yeah, I mean some of those people lived here for a long time.

I’d take a sip from them on occasion, usually when I couldn’t find a man to my liking.” He chuckled, confirming for Christian that Peter was indeed gay. Michel believed Peter was always after him.

“I asked Willy, one of the locals who I’ve gotten to know, and he told me that this guy approached them all sweet and nice, offering them money for sex, and then …” Peter ran two fingers across his throat in the sign of execution.

“What did he look like?”

“Willy said he was average height like me, not tall and handsome like you and Michel.” He eyed Christian up and down. “His hair was brown and longish, but his eyes were black and empty-looking, even in the sunlight. I heard he had an accent like yours—”

“So he’s French?”

“Oui, oui,” Peter chuckled again, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“I believe so. They said he was boyishly cute, actually.”