Spellbound (33 page)

“That was my thought. I wanted to discuss it with the research expert at the council. At the time, though, it wasn't a simple matter of making a call on my cell phone. The war might have ended, but communication with America was still difficult. From a small village so far from Paris, it was impossible. So, I continued gathering evidence while making forays into the forest, hoping to spot one of the creatures. Several times I saw a figure, yet I didn't detect any pulse of life. If I gave chase, it ran. I even once tried running away, to see if that would entice it, but it went in the opposite direction.”

“As if it sensed another predator.”

She nodded. “Then, a week after I arrived, a man came to the village inn where I was staying. He introduced himself as Guy Leray. He was the man you met as Giles. He took a room, and had the innkeeper introduce us. I'd been pretending to be a journalist from Paris, investigating the vampire soldiers. Leray said he was a writer and planned to pen a lurid novel on the case. He hoped we might share information. I told him, since he'd only just arrived, that would seem a one-way exchange. He apologized and withdrew. The next morning, he met me as I left my room, and offered me a lead. He'd heard of an unreported attack. Would I care to accompany him to interview the victim? I did. There was nothing new to this latest victim's story, so I reciprocated by offering Leray a few useless tidbits from my own investigation. Over the next few days, he pursued my company relentlessly. It was not a romantic pursuit. Nor was it a professional one. The man made me uneasy, and I began to suspect he was a supernatural, one who perhaps knew what I was.”

“But he wasn't a vampire himself.”

“No. He gave off the pulse of life. Then came the news that a hunting dog had found a shallow mass grave. When the villagers dug, they found the soldiers, all in a state of decomposition that suggested they'd died when they'd first disappeared. Local farmers began driving stakes through the soldiers' hearts before the officials could arrive. I managed to examine one corpse before it was impaled, and I can say with certainty that the man was dead. Yet the front of several soldiers' uniforms were caked with dried blood.”

“As if they'd been feeding.”

“That's what it looked like, though it was clear from the deterioration that they had not been vampires. I theorized that they'd been zombies raised by a necromancer and forced to behave in a vampirelike manner. The council report says that. But there was something that didn't make it into that report. A related incident. After the corpses were removed, I decided to remain in town a few days, to see if I could find the necromancer. I began to wonder if it was Leray and that's how he knew what I was.”

Necromancers deal with the dead. A vampire is—however much Cass hates to admit it—dead, and necromancers can tell.

“Supporting that supposition was the fact that Guy Leray left town the morning the corpses were discovered. If he was responsible, then he would have been nervous when he realized another supernatural was investigating. When he couldn't stop me, he stopped his zombies, buried them, and left. The next night, though, I was awakened by the sensation of visitors in my room. Two people stood beside my bed, arguing over the best way to decapitate me.”

“Nice,” I said.

“I thought so. I kept my eyes shut and listened. I determined which carried the machete, disabled him with a bite, and took his weapon. His companion threw herself on the floor, begging for mercy. A second bite disabled her. I trussed them up, and waited until they woke.

“They said they'd come to the region following Gilles de Rais. Naturally, I knew who they meant. When I was young, our maids used to frighten each other with stories of de Rais. As a vampire, I'd heard the name many times, along with the rumors of his continued existence. As they described the man, I realized he was the one I'd known as Guy Leray. My two would-be attackers were French immortality questers—shamans—and they'd heard a rumor he was here, and had come to offer their services as apprentices.”

“Groupies,” I said.

“Yes. They'd heard that it was very difficult to win his favor. Then they spotted me. Like most questers, they were obsessed with vampire lore and knew the names and descriptions of many vampires.”

“Including you.”

“They decided I would make the perfect offering for their idol. I convinced them that they'd made a horrible mistake, and I'd actually been working with de Rais, who was in the forest, conducting an important ritual. If they wanted, I could take them to him. Sadly the man was not as gullible as I'd hoped, and as we walked into the deep woods, he attacked. His partner followed suit. I was forced to kill them both, which is why that part of my story is not in the council record.”

While many supernatural bodies, like the werewolf Pack, have become more liberal-thinking in the twenty-first century, you could almost argue the reverse for the interracial council. Led by Coven witches, they'd historically taken a very nonviolent approach to conflict resolution—so nonviolent that they rarely resolved a conflict, and became little more than record-keepers. If Cassandra had killed two supernaturals, even in self-defense, they would have been afraid it would reflect badly on them, and the account would be stricken.

“The fact that it included an alleged sighting of Gilles de Rais by an actual council member made them even more reluctant to record it. That part, I didn't disagree with. I did not believe I'd actually met an immortal, much less the infamous de Rais. I thought perhaps he was a necromancer who'd killed the soldiers, then raised their zombies and instructed them to act like vampires, to further his reputation as Gilles de Rais conducting immortality experiments. I suspect now that what I stumbled upon was an immortality experiment in progress.”

 

 

Cassandra's theory wasn't as wild a conjecture as it might seem. When questers think of immortality, they turn to the two examples of it in our world: vampires and zombies. Vampires get most of the attention—eternal youth is damned attractive, especially when the alternative is eternal decomposition.

But if de Rais was already immortal, why conduct experiments? Two explanations. One, he wasn't Gilles de Rais, but a supernatural who'd taken on his identity and had, after the soldier experiment, uncovered the secret to immortality. Two, he'd already been immortal, but had achieved it in a way he couldn't duplicate and sell to others, so he was modifying his method.

Now he'd partnered with Anita Barrington, who'd been presumed dead for five years. Did she know Giles was supposedly Gilles de Rais? Was he promising his followers immortality? More important, could he deliver?

 

 

I'd dug up an e-mail to the agency from a Los Angeles resident who claimed to have been approached by the group for recruitment. He might have met Anita or Giles. Even if he hadn't we could hope he'd asked more questions than Eloise and might have more answers.

I called and arranged to meet him at a steak house. It was almost nine and I was getting woozy from lack of food. We got there five minutes before the contact—Tim—was due to arrive. We waited fifteen minutes, then I ordered prime rib. Cass got soup and a glass of wine.

Our meals arrived. We ate. I had dessert. Still no sign of Tim. I'd called his cell phone twice and gotten voice mail.

“He's bailed,” I said. “Decided he didn't want to get involved.”

“So it would appear,” she said. “I can't say I blame him.”

W
e'd parked in a lot a couple of blocks from the steak house, and had walked about half the distance back when Cassandra murmured, “Someone's watching us.”

I started to glance back, then stopped, took out my phone, and angled it to catch a reflection through the glass. All I could make out was a few people waiting to flag a cab.

“Not them,” Cassandra said. “Someone else has been behind us since we left the steak house.”

I turned before she could stop me. “There's no one else there.”

“Yes, there is. I'm experienced enough at stalking to recognize when I'm the one being stalked. Now I would suggest—”

I strode back along the sidewalk.

“That was not what I was going to suggest,” she said.

Once we passed the taxi-waiting group, I saw there was indeed someone behind them, following us. Someone I recognized. Anita Barrington stood in a delivery lane. When she saw us coming toward her, she didn't retreat. Just lifted a hand, as if to motion us closer, then wheeled, staring down the empty street. Without looking our way again, she took off.

“Follow?” I said.

“You're asking?” Cassandra arched her brows. “A little skittish these days?”

“No, a little careful these days.”

“As long as I can sense her, we won't get jumped.”

We made it to the end of the lane, then Cassandra lifted a hand to stop me.

“Let me guess,” I whispered. “She's waiting right around that corner.”

She shook her head. “Farther down. She's stopped. Someone else is approaching.”

“Where are they?” It was Eloise's voice.

“I couldn't make contact. Someone was watching.”

“I'll phone them,” Eloise said. “I'm sure if I ask them to meet me for a drink—”

“No. Subterfuge will only make them suspicious. I'll find another way. Giles can't see me meeting with her and he has spies everywhere.”

Their voices faded as they walked away. Cassandra motioned that we should follow. We did, only to find the alley dark and empty. We proceeded with caution until we reached a metal door. Cassandra stopped there, paused, then nodded.

“They're inside.”

The door wasn't locked. We went through and found ourselves in a back hall lined with doors, ending with one that led onto the street front. Cassandra passed by all of them without pausing. Her goal was the last one on the right. Also unlocked.

She opened it. When I peered through, I saw what looked like the darkened stockroom of a restaurant. I remembered passing an Indian takeout that'd been closed for the night.

Cassandra crossed the dark room and reached for the next door handle. I hurried in and grasped her shoulder.

“They're in there,” she said.

“Um, yes. Inside an empty restaurant. In the dark. Alone. Does this really seem like a good idea?”

She turned to me. “Timidity does not become you, Savannah. Has this loss of powers really had such an effect on your nerve?”

“No. I mean, yes, I'm a little more cautious. But having screwed up and gotten myself kidnapped had a bigger effect. It's not nervousness. It's maturity.”

“No, my dear, it's not. But clearly this isn't the place to have this conversation, so you will wait here, where I can assure you it's quite safe. The one who is impervious to harm will continue on.”

She slipped through the door. It closed behind her.

Damn it. Now this wasn't a matter of maturity. It was a matter of doing what was right, and protecting my partner.

I went through the door. Dark. I took out my phone and activated my new flashlight app. It cast a very weak light, barely enough to bother with. I could survive without magic, but it did make life easier. And safer.

I made it into the restaurant front—a counter for service and a few chairs for waiting customers. A sign pointed to restrooms around the corner. I followed it to a set of stairs. At the top were restroom doors. Farther down the hall, a door was open.

When I peeked through the open door, I found a makeshift apartment.

Ahead I saw Cassandra's back as she crept through a second doorway. I could hear voices, too. Cassandra disappeared, heading in the direction of the voices.

“Hello, Cassandra,” Anita's voice said. “I'm so pleased to meet you.”

I froze.

“Anita Barrington,” Cassandra said. “I've heard a great deal about you. Good to see you're alive and well after your brush with death. It's rather nasty, isn't it?”

Anita laughed. “They're right. You are a cool one. Good. That will make our discussion much easier. Would you take a seat, please?”

I crept along until I was behind the open door and could see through the crack into the room. A young man faced Anita, who was at a table. The guy stood by the table. Eloise was over at the window.

Cassandra had sat at the table, her back to me.

“I see Savannah didn't follow you,” Anita said.

“She wasn't curious. I am. The curse of a long life. Anything interesting intrigues me.”

“A long life indeed. You're the oldest living vampire. Your life must be nearing its end.”

“If you're asking me to give my body to science, I've misplaced my donor card.”

Anita smiled. “That would be very rude of me, and I can assure you, this is a completely respectful conversation, Ms. DuCharme. I have a proposition to make. I'd like to offer to extend your life.”

“Ah.”

“That's interesting, isn't it? It intrigues you?”

“Perhaps.” Cassandra folded her hands on the table. “First, Ms. Barrington, tell me about Matthew Hull. He admitted to killing you. Clearly he didn't. He simply wanted the council to think he had, so if anything happened to him, his work could continue. You were working with him, not against him. And now you're working with Gilles de Rais?”

“You have it all figured out.”

“Another curse of old age. I have no patience for prevarication or pretense. I presume you'll indulge me in that?”