Lynn Viehl - Darkyn 1 - If Angels Burn (v1.1) (13 page)

“You can shut it off now,” Hightower said, startling him again.

John stopped the tape and rose to walk over to the window. Outside, a group of little black girls was playing double Dutch jump rope in front of the sanctuary. They sang a ghetto slang rhyme in high, gleeful voices that kept time with their rapid, bouncing feet.

Mistah, Mistah, ya wanna kiss my sista
,

Mama, Mama, I saw him kiss Tawanda
,

One, two, three, four, sneak him in the back door
,

Four, five, six, seven, shuck yor pants and go to

heaven…

John wanted to be out there with them, with those little girls. He couldn’t contribute much to their pool of advice on illicit sex, but he might be able to keep time with the ropes. “When did these murders take place?”

“Five days ago.” Hightower inspected the luncheon cart and frowned at Cabreri when he saw the empty sandwich plate. “We had some problems dealing with the Garda, but it has been dealt with.”

Cabreri, who had devoured all the sandwiches, selected a petit four and munched it with relish.

The Italian priest’s appetite proved to be the final straw. “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

John walked rapidly out of the study, turned the corner, and went into the men’s bathroom, where he barely made it to the sink before he began heaving. He couldn’t vomit, however. Nothing would come up; his insides had turned to stone. A damp paper towel appeared beside his face, and he looked up at Father Cabreri.

“You know it is real,” Carlo told him. “This is what makes you sick. You are needed, Father Keller. Join les Frères de la Lumière, and help us.”

The grotesque imagery still spun in his head. “You seem to have the torture well in hand.”

“Things must be done. Often terrible things.” Cabreri shrugged.

John wanted to hit Carlo. He wanted to go in and scream at the bishop. But the real menace was to the innocent people being tortured because this secret society believed in vampires.

At last, a true enemy to fight—superstitious ignorance. He would enter the order and stop them from continuing this ridiculous quest. If he couldn’t, he would gather enough evidence to expose them to Rome. Surely the church would not hesitate to prosecute them.

“I am ready to join the Brethren,” John told the Italian. “What must I do?”

Cabreri grinned like a boy. “Pack.”

—every emergency room in the state of Illinois,” Grace Cho was saying when Alex cracked her eyelids open. “Do you know how many there are? Probably not.”

Alex moved her eyes to take in her new surroundings. White walls, beige tile, blue plastic curtains hanging from a curved groove in the popcorn ceiling. No flowers, no cards, a dozen portable monitors. An inpatient room, not surgical, though. She could see through the curtains into the next room, where an elderly woman lay unconscious and breathing off a respirator.

Intensive care. What am I doing here
?

Grace sighed. “Well, there are plenty, and I called every one of them.”

“Thanks,” Alex croaked out. Was that horrible noise her voice, and if so, who had buffed her larynx with steel wool?

“Huh?” Narrow black eyes flared wide before she jumped up from the chair beside the bed and grabbed Alex’s hand. “You’re awake—oh, dear God, I told them you were too tough, damn it.” Her office manager burst into tears.

Alex’s throat hurt; her head hurt; her damn
eyelashes
hurt. She was alarmed at how weak she felt, too—newborn fragile—and discovered that, like one, she was unable to lift her head or turn on her side. Her hand was tethered by an IV, the needle of which stung when she flexed her fingers to squeeze Grace’s. “ ‘Sallright, Gray.”

“Boss, my God, what happened to you?”

“Beats me.” She had no idea how she’d ended up in ICU, but her condition and presence here alone told her that she should be grateful to still be breathing. She closed her eyes and held on to her office manager’s small hand, drawing strength from it. “Be fine.”

Three nurses and Charlie Haggerty were in her room seven minutes after Alex woke up. “Alex?”

She focused on his bearded face, the tall lanky body, and the angry brown eyes.
He looks wrong. Why does he look wrong
? “Got crackers, babe?”

Charlie sent Grace out with the nurses and examined her himself.

Alex answered his questions, but by the time he tugged her patient gown back up over her breasts, she had quite a few of her own. “Why am I here? How long have I been here? Was there an accident?”

“You were brought in last night, unconscious and missing three pints of blood.” He jerked his stethoscope from his ears and let it dangle from his neck. “Who did it? Where did he take you? Did you see his face?”

She shook her head. “Can’t remember. Everything’s all a big blank.”

“Baby, you have to.” Charlie dropped down and took her hand between his. “You disappeared a week ago. They didn’t find you until yesterday, when some lady tripped over you in a restroom at the airport. They took some prints off your Jeep—it was parked in one of the long-term lots—but they haven’t matched them to anyone yet.”

That didn’t sound promising. She looked down at herself. “Any wounds?”

“No injuries. We did a rape kit, but no signs of intercourse. Not a scratch on you, not even a needle mark.” He bent over and brushed his mouth over hers. Tears fell from his eyes and made wet spots on her forehead and cheek before he gathered her up against him. “Jesus, Al, Jesus. I thought I was going to lose you.”

His fierce embrace made her want to wriggle away, but she let him hold her and pour out his terrors. Odd that she couldn’t feel much fear of her own. Something—maybe the blood loss and weakness—seemed to be suspending her emotions in a thick, insulating gel.

Like Charlie, several of Alex’s anxious colleagues were unable to explain how she could have nearly bled to death with no physical wounds to justify the blood loss. Alex couldn’t help them, either. The last thing she remembered was leaving the hospital and walking to her Jeep. The next thing she knew, she was in ICU and listening to Grace bitch.

It was obvious that she had been abducted, but the when, where, and why eluded her completely, as well as the who. As gaps in the memory went, it was a troubling one and, with no head injury or drugs in her system, damned hard to explain. It was undeniable, however. The police officer who came by to take Alex’s statement confirmed that she had, as Charlie had claimed, been missing for six days.

After three more days of subjecting her to every possible test under the sun to explain the blood loss, and still finding no cause, Alex’s colleagues threw up their hands and discharged her. Charlie drove her home and stayed to help settle her in.

“I could call your brother,” he offered, transparent worry in his dark eyes. “Or stay the night, if you want some company.”

John had come to see Alex while she was in ICU, but a nurse told her that she’d slept through his one and only visit. He’d left a card that showed the time and date that a mass had been said for her at St. Luke’s, and on the back had written a terse note about leaving for Rome in a week. But even John’s sudden trip and lack of fraternal concern failed to rouse any concern on her part.

She would be fine, and so would John. Everything would be fine. She felt sure of it.

“No, thanks, Charlie.” After being poked and prodded for days, she really needed to be alone. On impulse she added, “Quit worrying. I survived.”

“Okay, then.” He kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. I’ll stop in and see you in the morning on my way to rounds.”

When he left, Alex turned off all the lights and sat in the dark. She was somewhat puzzled by her own lack of emotion over her ordeal. Anyone who had endured what she had was entitled to be hysterical or at least a little upset, but she felt pretty calm. Had felt calm since waking up in ICU. She also had a new and distinct sense of anticipation but had no idea where that came from, either.

I’m waiting…for what
? Was there an appointment she had made, one that had been swallowed up along with her memories of the six days she had gone missing? It wasn’t a patient; Grace had shuffled all of her open cases over to a couple of colleagues. Luisa was holding her own. No, whatever was nagging at her had nothing to do with her practice.
Be patient. Be calm. It will come to you
.

He came an hour after Charlie left, and rang the doorbell.

About time
. Alex wanted to go to bed, but she’d take care of this first.

The man at her door was better-looking than she expected. Tall, lean, and dressed in a beautiful gray suit and black trench coat. He carried a briefcase like an attorney, but wore his hair too long for court.

Like a lion’s mane
, she thought, admiring it. Strange how all the hair around his face was dead-white; he looked very young, not more than forty at the most. The faint scent of roses teased her nose and made her breathe in deeply before she smiled up at him. “Hello.”

“Good evening, Dr. Keller.” His voice was low and soft, and had a distinct French accent. “May I come in?”

Do I know anyone French
? Alex had never let a stranger in her house in her life, but it was silly not to invite him in. How else could she find out why she had been waiting for him? Besides, she had to know him, else how could he have found her place?

The appointment
.

Of course, that was it. She must have invited him to come and see her. She simply couldn’t remember his name or doing it. “Yes, please, come in.”

The rose scent grew stronger as he walked into the house. Maybe he grew or delivered flowers for a living.
Wouldn’t mind getting a bouquet from him
, Alex thought as she discreetly checked out his shoulders and long legs.

The man refused her offer of a drink and a seat, and placed the briefcase on the coffee table. “This is yours.”

“I don’t think so.” Frowning, she examined the case. “The one I use is brown, not black.”

“What I mean is that I brought it for you.” He walked up to her and studied her face. “It is not the rapture. How can that be?” He sounded very upset.

“I’m okay, really.” She made a face. “I just can’t remember what happened to me. I was… it’s kind of a long story.”

“I know. I am part of it.” He pressed his fingertips to the side of her neck. Warmth spread out over her skin where he touched her. “It is time for you to remember, Alexandra. Remember New Orleans. Remember me.”

Memories punched through the bewildering lassitude, vicious and unforgiving as they flooded into her head. She would have fallen on her ass if the man had not caught her.

Mr. Cyprien is in great need
—

Your boss had me kidnapped
?

I am something of a medical challenge
.

Michael
—

She will not mind
—

The smell of roses. The touch of his hands. The brush of his hair against her cheek.

Pardonnez-moi, chérie
.

Pain slammed into Alex’s head, making her reel. In a heartbeat, she knew everything: the abduction, the house in New Orleans, the terribly scarred man, the illegal surgery she’d been forced to perform. And something worse. Something so horrifying that it couldn’t have happened outside of a nightmare. But it had.

Pardonnez-moi, chérie
.

His lips had felt soft, but the top of his mouth had been pushed back. His voice had been gentle, but he’d looked like a maniac, an animal. Coming at her with his teeth bared.

No, not teeth. No human being’s teeth ever came sliding out like ivory daggers, like a snake’s did just before it struck, and he had used them on her—Alex remembered that, too. He had opened his mouth and used them to—

“Be calm,
chérie
.” His fingers cupped her cheek.

Alex jerked away from his hand. She knew him, all right. Michael Cyprien, the sick son of a bitch who had torn out her
throat
. With his
teeth
.

“You. You get away from me.” She jerked away, banging into a chair and nearly falling again. She began shaking, so hard that her teeth chattered. “Wh-wh-what did you do? How did you make me forget all that?”

“It was something that we did together.” He watched her, his eyes bright in his grave, perfect face. The face she had made for him. “My people should not have brought you back like this. I am sorry.”

“You’re
sorry
?” Adrenaline and rage pumped into her veins. “After what you did? After what… you…” She touched the side of her throat. The skin was smooth and unbroken. “I remember you doing it. Biting me.” But there was no wound, no scarring. Nothing.

“I did.” He took a couple of steps toward her.

“Where?” She couldn’t stop prodding her neck or backing away from him. “You didn’t stitch me up. I can’t feel anything, not even scar tissue. How did you make me think that?” A horrendous thought occurred to her. “Did you use drugs on me?”

“You were wounded, and I… helped you. My kind, we have ways to heal. It’s just that no one…” He seemed to realize he was scaring the daylights out of her, and stood still. “Alexandra, I will not hurt you.”

“Like the last time?” If she hadn’t been so terrified, she would have slapped his mouth off. “You’re a monster.”

“I am.” He didn’t seem too worried about it. “Still, I am not so different from your other patients.” He circled around her. “You operate on abnormal structures of the body, to improve function and approximate a normal appearance. In repairing the damage to my face, you restored my identity.”

She couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were bright blue now, but she remembered how they had dilated into those terrible, twin pits of amber hell.

Don’t look at him
.

“What are you on?” she demanded, fixing her gaze on a point past his head. “Did you give it to me?”

“No, I—it is too complicated to explain.” He shook his head. “You must make a choice now,
chérie
. You can come back to New Orleans with me now, and I will provide for you. Or you can stay here and live your life as it was, but you must never speak of this to anyone.”