SCROLLS OF THE DEAD-3 Complete Vampire Novels-A Trilogy (13 page)

"So," Mentor said, "no one can stop you from being involved with your young man. But you must think where it will lead. Or not lead. He is not like you. If you've any heart, you won't wish to make him like you. As he ages, you won't—not on the surface. When you must migrate to a new body, the way we all have to when the old ones wear out, will he love that body, too? When he reaches the end of his days, will you be able to stand by him and watch him leave you alone again and lonely?"

She shook her head and felt the tears well in her eyes. Mentor knew she had already thought of her future. He knew she was not simply asking about having a high school sweetheart, but a partner, a mate. Maybe not Ryan, but someone.

When she wiped the tears away, she was disgusted to see her own blood smeared on her knuckles. Mentor leaned forward and handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her hands in a frenzy and tried not to cry.

"This is a cruel life, then," she said in a broken voice. "I knew that, but I . . . didn't really understand it."

She heard the vampire in the basement moaning, and she drew in her shoulders.

"We are as chained as he is," she said, wiping at her cheeks and eyes with the handkerchief, frantically cleaning away the blood.

Mentor's voice was soft as he said, "That is why I'm here, Dell. To help you find a way to move through the days while dragging all the chains behind you."

She had her eyes shut, the handkerchief over them and she thought, I don't know if you can do that, Mentor. I don't know how any of us stand it.

Chapter 10

Dr. Alan Star had finished reading the marked volumes, magazines, and photocopied articles Charles Upton had given him to study. He sat in his apartment, the papers scattered all around him, his feet propped on the coffee table. He ate from a can of pork and beans with a spoon.

He knew it was an odd habit he'd gotten into, but sometimes he couldn't face the idea of walking into the kitchen to cook a meal for one. On those days he simply chose a can from the cabinet, whether it was a can of corn, beans, hominy, tuna—whatever—and sat in the living room eating from the can with a spoon. It filled his belly, dispelled the hunger until he could go out to buy a meal. Why dirty a dish?

As he spooned the beans into his mouth, he thought over some of the stories he'd been reading. Only to a dying man would the tales seem to have some semblance of reality. Okay, there was a case or two where graves of the dead were dug up and the corpse was missing. And there were eyewitness accounts testifying to seeing who had died walking through a town. But the stories did not take place in modern society, in today's world. They happened in Yugoslavia or Cuba or Haiti, where the people were already steeped in superstition. Didn't Upton notice that?

Also, there was some research into the Haiti zombielike incidents, where the dead seemed to return, that showed witch doctors used a potion that included poison from the blow fish. Given in correct dosage it could make a man appear dead. Within twenty-four hours the witch doctor dug up the grave of the victim, revived him, and used him for a slave.

None of these later theories explaining how a dead man might walk again were found in Upton's papers.

So what was Alan going to say to Upton, that was the question? Could he really live with himself if he took the money and spent his days hunting down a . . . vampire?

He grimaced, feeling the slimy chunk of fat in his mouth that was invariably found in cans of pork and beans. He spit it back into the can and set it on the coffee table. Andy Warhol had become famous painting cans of Campbell Soup. It was no mystery to Alan that the cans were not of pork and beans. Jesus, next time he'd lay off the beans and choose good old whole golden corn kernels. Corn never had mysterious meat in it.

He stared at the books and papers at his feet. He sighed and began to gather them and put them back into the bag. He had an appointment with Upton at three o'clock. He'd have to make a decision by then. He would have to wrestle with his conscience and decide which choice did the least harm. He wished now he'd never been on the staff tending Charles Upton and that he was not one of the leading experts in Upton's disease.

Alan rose, took the can and spoon to the kitchen and set it alongside a row of empty cans on the counter. His mouth twisted in distaste. He had to stop eating like this. If anyone saw the mess he'd made, they wouldn't believe it.

He turned away and strode to the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. He had two hours to bathe, dress, and make his way to Upton Towers. He had two hours to determine just how far he would go to build his research center.

As he stripped, he knew already what he had to do. Being honest with himself, he admitted he had known all along, even before reading Upton's research.

He would let the man hire him to track down vampires. He would make a true and thorough search. He would not stint on that search, nor would he let his own prejudices and disbelief deter him. He would bring to the hunt all of his critical faculties and lessons learned.

If Upton wanted a vampire hunter, then he had just hired one.

Stepping into the shower, Alan smiled. The thing was, he could never tell anyone about this. Never. Oh, God, not a word. It was a secret worse than his eating habits.

~*~

Charles Upton could see through Dr. Star's guise. Just like Upton's partner, David, the man did not believe.

Upton dismissed the thought. It didn't matter what Star believed. What mattered was that Upton had convinced him to search for a living vampire, even if it took him to Europe, even if it took him the rest of Upton's life. Which would not be so long, Upton thought ruefully, so it wasn't that great a sacrifice. I'm a real bastard, he thought. I take advantage of people who want my money. Of course, hasn't that been the way throughout all my life?

"I'll make sure the hospital won't give you any trouble about time off," Upton said.

"I appreciate that, Mr. Upton."

"I know how you care about your patients. If any of them really need you, you have my permission to halt the search in order to see about them."

"Thank you, sir."

"Can't you call me Charles?" Upton tried to smile, but his paralyzed lips would not move for him. He hoped the smile reached his eyes instead.

"Okay, I'll try, Charles."

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it? Well then, our business is concluded. I'll have my will updated and a copy sent to you immediately. I'll also send a contract that states our arrangement, and will deposit ten million dollars in a special operating account. I'll have my partner begin negotiations for land in the downtown area and soon we'll have a construction crew on the site. He's used to me giving millions to charity. I have to, for tax purposes, and if nothing else, David understands taxes. Do you have a name for your new facility?"

"Not yet, sir. Uh . . . Charles."

"All in good time, I'm sure. Meanwhile I'll let you get started on your work. If you need to hire anyone, just give me a call, and I'll handle it for you. If you need transportation anywhere, I'll have a flight booked. Any expenses you incur on my behalf will be completely covered."

When Alan did not respond, Upton eyed him carefully. "Look, I know what you must think. I know this is going to be hard for you. I know I must look like a man who has gone insane. But ask yourself this. What harm will it do? If your search turns up nothing, then that's it, isn't it? You still get your center. I'm the only one who can lose. I take all the risk."

"I know," Alan said.

"All right, then, let's shake on it. Let it begin. If there is such a thing as immortality, let's find it." He held out his old gnarled hand where new sores had erupted. The doctor took it unflinchingly, and shook with him.

Upton watched him leave the bedroom before he drew the bag of books and papers close to him. He unzipped the bag and drew out one of the books, turning to the page with the folded corner.

It gave him hope to read about the possibility of life after death, no matter how farfetched, no matter how superstitious and crazy and unsubstantiated. He thought the possibility of real vampires walking the Earth no more a fantasy than the one held by millions of a God in heaven and a final reckoning of the soul.

~*~

Alan rode down in the Towers' private penthouse elevator with his hands locked together behind his back. He'd done it. He'd taken the step that men of science would have scoffed at. He was Upton's vampire detective. If he tried to sell this to Hollywood, they'd lap it up, but if it ever got out to his colleagues, he'd be laughed out of the Houston medical community. His reputation and his practice would die on the vine.

He shook his head as the doors of the elevator opened and he stepped into the shiny, black marble lobby of his benefactor's building. He hardly knew where to start. He had to find out who was going to cover his patients, and come up with a story that they would believe. Even with Upton intervening for him, there would be questions. Then he would consult the notes he'd taken on the articles he'd read. Where would he have to go? Who would he have to see in order to convince the old man there was no such thing as vampires? Would he ever convince him?

Probably not. Probably whatever he came across would be dismissed out of hand. This was the wildest goose chase any sane doctor had ever undertaken, and he would have to carry around the guilt of his greed and weakness for a very long time.

As he made his way into the underground garage and over to his car, he felt a knot tightening in his stomach. It was the beans he'd eaten, he guessed.

Or it could be the decision he'd made.

~*~

When Alan got back to his office, he found a message from Bette Kinyo on the answering machine. It was not unusual for Bette Kinyo to give him a friendly call just to say hello. Alan Star thought the call that afternoon was just such a greeting.

"Bette! How the hell are you? Been to any good medical conventions lately?" He and Bette had gone to medical school together and dated a few times before drifting apart. Neither of them was ready to get into a serious relationship, mainly because both were headed in different directions in their careers. Bette did not want to practice medicine so much as she wanted to stick with her microscopes in a laboratory. Now she headed up a Dallas lab where they did HIV testing on blood supplies for the city. Alan, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to practice and save lives in that close, hands-on environment occurring between a patient and doctor.

"Hello, Alan. You know the last convention I attended was with you in Austin. Listen, I called to check out something." She sounded pensive.

"Okay, shoot. I'm hurt you're not calling to ask me out, but shoot anyway." He smiled into the phone. Why had he let this woman get away from him? She was smart, hell, brilliant in her field. And he loved her small face with the dark Oriental sparkling eyes. At every convention they attended, usually at least twice a year, they took a room together in the hotel and renewed their affair. When the convention ended, they went their separate ways, back to Dallas and to Houston, with phone calls their only contact. It was a strange system for sometime lovers, though he had to admit she brightened his life considerably when he was around her periodically.

"Alan, you know I have a record of all the blood supplies in the city, right?"

"Sure." What could this be about, he wondered?

"Well, for some months I've been concerned. One of the banks, the Strand-Catel, has been low on blood about once a month for as far back as I've been testing. I just never noticed it before."

"Low?" His brow furrowed.

"Not dangerously low, I mean they can supply the hospitals if they have to, but I began to notice huge shipments from Strand-Catel going out of the city. They're shipped to Houston, El Paso, San Antonio, even down to Del Rio."

"So maybe they supply other places, not just Dallas, what's wrong with that?"

"Well, that's it. I looked into it and those cities have plenty of banks, enough to cover their own needs unless . . ."

"What?"

"Well, unless those cities have emergencies. You know, hurricanes, a deadly virus outbreak like e Coli, or major highway accidents."

"Well, I haven't noticed Houston needing any extra blood."

"That's just it, Alan. There haven't been any emergencies needing supplies for the people who live there. I just don't get it."

It was then that the light bulb went off in Alan's head. He shook himself mentally, trying to rid his mind of the nonsense. Blood. Vampires. Missing blood, blood shipped out of a central location to cities that were not in need. Unless . . . But that was fantasy.

"Alan?"

"I'm sorry, yeah, go ahead."

"So that's why I'm calling. Your hospital hasn't sent a request for blood supplies from this Dallas outfit?"

"I don't know, but I can find out."

"Would you do that for me? I just can't figure out what's going on. These shipments go out untested, and that's totally against regulations. I'm hoping the labs in those cities are doing their jobs. It worries me, that's all. I looked up the records after I noticed the pattern and this has been going on for a long time, Alan. A very long time. Years, in fact."

"Any other blood bank doing the same thing?"

"No, just Strand-Catel. That's why I didn't catch on for so long."

"Okay, sure, I'll find out something for you, Bette. I'll do some sleuthing." He knew she could hear the humor in his voice because she laughed. She didn't know he wasn't kidding. His real job now was looking into things that had to do with the use and care of blood.

~*~

In a supply room next to the doctor's lounge where Alan Star was taking his call from Bette, a Natural by the name of Hank sat listening to the conversation. He could hear both parties easily through walls and phone wires. He had accidentally picked up the thought "vampire" from Dr. Star when walking down the hall earlier and had followed him. Doctors did not generally go around thinking about vampires. It intrigued Hank enough that he stuck near Star most of the day. Every now and then he tried to carefully tiptoe into the doctor's thoughts, hoping to find out more details.