Vamps (6 page)

“What possessed you to do something so reckless as to tap a human at the club in the first place? Never mind the security issues—did you even bother to consider
whether you're ready to take responsibility for bringing unlife into this world?”

“That couldn't possibly have happened,” Lilith said with a dismissive shrug. “I'm too young to create undead.”

“Mercifully, that is still the case. But it won't be for much longer, Lilith. In the blink of an eye—another four years, five at the most—you'll finish maturing into an adult. You'll lose your ability to reflect, your aging process will slow to one tenth of a human's, and your bite will transform those you feed on into undead….”

“Daddy, do we
have
to go through the ‘bats and the bees' talk right now?” Lilith groaned, rolling her eyes in embarrassment.

“Better we discuss the matter now, before it's too late. I certainly can't trust your mother to handle the situation, can I?”

“No, sir,” Lilith agreed.

Lilith couldn't remember the last time she had anything resembling a conversation with her mother. After spending over one hundred years trying desperately to conceive an heir for her husband, the former Irina Viesczy now spent as little time with her offspring and spouse as possible.

“Bringing undead into the world is serious business, Lili. They'll serve you without qualm or complaint
for centuries. Odds are they'll even ‘outlive' you and end up being passed down to your own heirs when the time comes, like Bruno and Esmeralda and Curtis. All of them will gladly kill and die for you. After all, if you're destroyed before you can pass along your bloodright—even to a usurper—they die as well. The undead are the true foundation on which power is based in our society.

“Remember, it is better to have crypts full of undead than vaults full of gold. Why? Because the vampire with the biggest bloodright gets the gold. It's that simple. But no matter how powerful I am, if you draw attention to us, you'll have to answer to the Synod. The man you attacked at the club is newsworthy, Lilith. What with satellite uplinks, podcasts, and CNN, it's more important than ever for our kind to keep our secret.

“If the Lord Chancellor finds you guilty of placing us in the spotlight, you'll be defanged.”

“How barbaric!” Lilith gasped, instinctively covering her mouth.

“Indeed,” her father replied. “In the old days it amounted to a death sentence, since the offender slowly starved to death. Now do you understand why it is wise to keep from doing things that would result in being brought before the Synod?”

“Yes, sir,” she said sullenly.

“Not only that, but we also don't want to do anything that would make Count de Laval reconsider the wisdom of marrying into our family, am I right? So, do I have your promise that you will never tap a human in the club again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good,” Todd said with a relieved sigh. “Now, perhaps you can tell me why you're standing in front of me dressed in nothing but a man's jacket. What happened to your dress?”

“It got shredded when I shapeshifted.”

“You shapeshifted?” Todd scowled. “How did
that
happen?”

“It's a long story,” Lilith replied, still staring at her feet.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I'm sorry, Daddy. I really, really am. But it wasn't my fault,” Lilith said, the words suddenly pouring out of her like water. “We were over at Tanith's place, just goofing off. We were bored because we couldn't go to the club. We ended up going to Washington Square Park….”

“Whose bright idea was
that
?”

“Jules's.”

At the mention of Jules, her father softened. “You were in the Village? What for?”

“We were just out partying, that's all, I promise.”

“I know you're lying to me, Lilith. Or, at the very least, you're not telling me something. But I've had a
very
long night and I'm too tired to play any more games with you.” He leaned toward his intercom. “If you don't tell me what you and the others were doing in the Village, I'm going to have all your credit cards canceled.”

“No! Don't do that!”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“Okay. You win,” she said, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “We were slumming.”

Victor Todd came out of his chair as if it were electrified. “You were
what
?” His voice reverberated so loudly it made the walls of the room shake. “Of all the most dangerous,
stupidest
things you could have done—! And after
everything
I have worked to achieve—! The whole
point
of HemoGlobe is to make risky behavior like that a thing of the past for our people! By the Founders, child,
what
were you thinking?”

“We thought it was safe this time….”

“Safe! It's like Russian roulette—the odds are against you! Every time you go out in public, you run the risk of being attacked by Van Helsings! You, of all people, know how much you stand out in a crowd!”

“We were keeping a low profile, I swear! Everything was going just fine. Then this New Blood bitch showed
up and everything got out of hand….”

“New Blood?” Todd's scowl deepened further.

“Yeah. She's the one who's really responsible for what happened. If it wasn't for her, the Van Helsings would never have known we were there.”

“What did she do?”

“She tried to attack me with a bolt of lightning.”

“A
stormgatherer
?” Todd seemed genuinely startled by this revelation. “Are you
sure
about that? I thought you said the girl was a New Blood.”

“Well, I
assumed
that's what she was,” Lilith said. “I mean, I know all the Old Blood kids, and I've
never
seen this girl before….”

“Then what happened?”

“Tanith got staked,” Lilith replied, her voice dropping to little more than a whisper.

“By the Founders,” Todd muttered in shock. “Is she—?”

Lilith nodded.

“I see,” Todd said. He rubbed his lower lip with the knuckle of his right index finger, a sign that he was lost in his own thoughts. “Very well. Go on to bed, Lilith. I'll see that Dorian and Georgina are notified.”

Victor Todd watched his daughter head out the door of the study. As she moved to shut the door behind her, Lilith looked over her shoulder at him, her brilliant blue eyes shining with tears.

“Daddy?” she asked in a wavering voice.

“Yes, Lilith?” he replied gently.

“You're not going to cut up my credit cards, are you?”

“No, princess.” He sighed. “Of course not.”

C
ally lived with her mother on the top floor of a seven-story building that had originally been a warehouse for pipe organs or something equally Victorian. Their condo was one of many created for the artists, students, and office workers forced out of the Lower East Side in search of affordable rents.

Compared to some of the places they'd lived, the three-bedroom-two-bath apartment they now called home was a palace. Indeed, the living room had excellent views and a large balcony that looked out toward the Williamsburg Bridge. The kitchen was outfitted with all stainless steel Viking appliances, including a six-burner stove—not that it mattered, since Cally's mom had no idea how to cook and no intention of ever learning.

As she exited the elevator onto her floor, Cally
could hear the rumble from the home theater system's subwoofer. She sighed and rolled her eyes. No doubt they were going to get another nasty note from the condo board.

Cally's mother, Sheila Monture, was seated on the antique red velvet fainting couch facing the sixty-inch plasma flat-panel HDTV, watching, yet again, Francis Ford Coppola's
Dracula.
Cally recognized the scene as the one where Anthony Hopkins and Keanu Reeves charge into Winona Ryder's bedroom and catch her in the arms of Gary Oldman.

“I'm home!” Cally shouted over the thunderously loud sound track as she unlocked the door. She noticed that the draperies covering the huge picture windows in the living room had been pulled back so her mother could look out at the East River.

Sheila Monture spun around, startled by her daughter's sudden appearance. She fumbled with the remote, and the sound level on the movie dropped from deafening to merely loud.

“Sweetheart! There you are—! I was hoping you'd get home early enough for us to talk!”

As her mother rose to greet her, Cally saw that she was wearing a pale lavender negligee with stylized bat wing sleeves and a long black wig with a white streak in it. Over the years, Cally had come to recognize that her mother chose costumes to express her moods. Whenever she wanted to come across as sophisticated and
aloof, she dressed like Morticia Addams; when she wanted to be perceived as motherly and down-to-earth, she dressed as Lily Munster.

“Talk? About what?” Cally asked warily.

“I heard from your father tonight,” Sheila said cheerily, ignoring her daughter's tone of voice.

“A lot
he
cares!” Cally sneered.

“Now, darling, that's
not
true!” Sheila Monture affected an exaggerated frown as she clasped her hands over her breast. “Your father cares quite a bit about you.”

Cally walked across the living room and stared out the window at the bridge, its metal span illuminated against the night.

“Darling, your father is giving you a big chance. Starting Monday, you are going to Bathory Academy,” her mother said, clearly savoring the words.

Cally spun around in disbelief. “Why do I have to go there, of all places? I made the
honor roll
at Varney Hall last year!”

“That's the thing, sweetie. Your father's a
very
important,
very
busy man. He doesn't always have the time to deal with things himself. Normally, I send your report cards to the people who handle his business affairs for him, so it took your father a while before he got a chance to really look at your academic records. But once he did, he was
very
impressed. He told me tonight that you were being wasted at Varney. It's nice enough and
all, but it's still a
New Blood
school. Your father wants to help you better yourself! Isn't that
wonderful
?”

Cally shook her head in furious denial. “You can tell him to forget it! I have friends at Varney. I am
not
going to that Old Blood bimbo house!”

Sheila Monture's too-wide smile faltered and she began to wring her hands, which was never a good sign. “But you
have
to, Cally. If you don't, your father will withdraw his protection, not to mention his money. We'll have to move again.”

Cally put her hands to her head as if trying to keep it from exploding. “Move? I thought you said you bought this condo with the money Granny left you.”

“I used those funds to make the down payment, but it's your father who pays the monthly note on the mortgage and all the other fees.”

“Perhaps this would
mean
something to me if I knew who the hell my father actually
is
!” Cally snapped. “I've never seen the man or heard his voice! I don't even know his
name
! All I know is that he's too busy and important to spend time with me, he's married to someone else, and he's ashamed to acknowledge me!”

“Cally,
please
don't talk that way,” her mother pleaded. “It's not fair to blame him for how things are between you. My mother had a lot to do with keeping your father away from you, and you know that. Believe me, when your father is ready to reveal himself to you, he will do so. Until then, it's safer that you not know his
identity. Your father is a
powerful
man, with
powerful
enemies, ones who would stop at
nothing
to make sure they destroy his posterity.”

“Is that all I am to him, then? A hedge against extinction?”

Sheila Monture was about to deny her daughter's assessment, then thought better of it and quickly looked away. Cally groaned in disgust.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. If you need me for anything, I'll be in my room.”

As Cally moved toward the hallway, Sheila grabbed her daughter by the wrist. “Please, Cally—I beg you,
please
do as your father asks. I don't want to move! I
like
it here in Williamsburg, and I know you do too! The artist community here is very open-minded. I'm
comfortable
here. It's a lot like the East Village used to be. Nobody stares at me when I go out, at least not too much. I don't want to
have
to move again and end up someplace where the neighbors treat us like freaks.”

“Mom,
don't
put this on me—it's not fair.”

“
Please
, Cally?” Sheila asked in a quavering voice. The tears welling at the corners of her eyes were already making her mascara run. “Just go along and do this
one
little thing for Mama…?”

Cally clenched her jaw and told herself she was not going to give in. Not this time. She tried to pull her wrist free, but her mother wouldn't let go. It would be very easy to
make
her let go, but Cally had no desire
to truly hurt her. Her mother was damaged enough already.

She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, pained sigh. “Okay, Mom. You win. I'll go.”

T
he Van Helsing Institute was headquartered in a rambling Georgian estate set on seventeen acres in the horse country of Connecticut. For the last eighteen and a half years it had been Peter Van Helsing's home and school. In time, he would no doubt take over the reins of the company, following in the footsteps of his ancestors. Or so he thought until he crossed Cally's path.

Peter moved gingerly across the room to the huge mahogany desk in front of the fireplace. If he walked too fast, his newly cracked rib made it feel like someone was jabbing him in the side with a spear. He was glad his father wasn't around, because he still wasn't sure what he was going to tell him about what happened.

Peter glanced up at the portrait of his great-great-great-grandfather hanging over the mantelpiece. Dressed
in a dark cravat worn with a wide turnover collar that was fashionable in the 1830s, the infamous Pieter Van Helsing seemed to regard his most recent descendant with a disapproving stare.

A twinge of guilt almost as sharp as the pain in his ribs caused Peter to look away. He dropped his eyes to the sea of folders filled with printouts, reports, photographs, and newspaper clippings that covered the desktop. Even though much of what was in the aging manila binders had long since been digitized and transferred into the Institute's computer system, his father was an old-fashioned man and preferred having the actual documentation close at hand.

As Peter moved closer, he heard the sound of chains rattling. The gargoyle lifted its head from the rug by the fireplace with a growl so deep Peter felt it more than heard it. About the size and general build of a bull mastiff, the creature had leathery, grayish-green skin and batlike wings growing from its shoulders. It sniffed the air, and the rumbling growl disappeared, replaced by a friendly whine of recognition.

“Do you want a treat, Talus?”

The gargoyle's hairless, lizardlike tail began to slap against the rug in anticipation as Peter flipped open the lid of an old wooden cigar box. He plucked one of the dead mice from inside by its tail and tossed it to the drooling beast. Talus snapped the morsel out of midair, then looked back expectantly at Peter.

“One's enough.” Peter laughed, wagging a finger in admonishment. “I don't want Dad blaming me for ruining your supper!”

As if on cue, the doors to the office opened and Christopher Van Helsing, president and CEO of the Van Helsing Institute, the world's oldest secular supernatural extermination service, entered the room. With his shock of wavy gray hair and the intense, deeply preoccupied look he always seemed to wear, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Beethoven.

“Peter!” Van Helsing said, hurrying forward to greet his wounded son. “My brave boy! How are your ribs?”

“Not too bad, I guess,” Peter said, wincing at his father's embrace. “The doctors at the emergency room said I cracked one pretty good, but nothing's actually broken. I'm going to the infirmary in a bit to have Doc Willoughby tape me up. I'm just waiting for him to finish taking care of Big Ike and Drummer.”

“I'm glad to hear you're okay. In any case, it's a good thing we Van Helsings heal pretty fast, eh, son?” his father said.

“Yes, sir,” Peter agreed.

“Are you up to talking about what happened in the subway?”

“I guess so, sir.” Peter shrugged.

“Is something the matter?” Van Helsing frowned, surprised by Peter's lack of enthusiasm. “The last time
I saw you, you were all pumped up about going solo for the first time.”

“It's just that you were counting on me, and I feel like I let you down, sir.”

“It's not just
your
fault the mission failed, son,” his father replied. “The whole thing was a cock-up.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter murmured, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Speaking of which…” Van Helsing strode over to his desk and punched the intercom. “Tell Rémy I want to see him in my office. Stat.”

“Yes, sir,” a female voice replied. “He's on his way.”

As Peter's father moved to sit down, Talus perked up.

“Who's happy to see Daddy?” Van Helsing asked as he scratched behind the beast's batlike ears. “Yes, it's
you
, Talus!
You're
happy to see Daddy, aren't you?”

“I just gave him a treat,” Peter warned his father. “Don't let him trick you into thinking he's starving.”

“I'm a sucker when it comes to this beast, and he knows it,” Van Helsing said with an uncharacteristic chuckle. “It's hard not to get attached when you hatch them yourself.”

There was a light knock as Rémy stuck his head inside the office door. “You wanted to see me, boss?”

Van Helsing nodded and motioned for the other man to enter. His smile was gone, replaced by a scowl. “Indeed I do, Rémy. I sent you and the others out on
what should have been a relatively simple ambush—of a young girl, no less. I would like you to tell me how it is my best field operative is in critical condition after being electrocuted, my strike team leader has a dislocated shoulder, and my son is covered in rat bites and suffering from a busted rib.”

Rémy swallowed so hard his Adam's apple nearly disappeared. “Boss, I can explain what happened! We had things under control, but before we could move to take down the target, a group of oldies showed up….”

Van Helsing raised an eyebrow. “Adults or fledglings?”

“Fledglings, as far as any of us could tell. They seemed about the same age as the stormgatherer. There were at least three suckers. A male and two females.”

“Slummers, no doubt.” Van Helsing shook his head in disgust.

“One of the females mixed it up with the target. That's what triggered everything. Next thing we know, we're in the middle of a whirlwind. Big Ike made the call to take out the Old Bloods before they could gang up on the stormgatherer.”

“Did he succeed?”

Rémy nodded. “He managed to stake one of the females. The trophy's being cleaned and prepared as we speak. After that, things went haywire. The storm
gatherer ended up attacking Ike. Then the male stepped in—or flew in, rather. We wounded him, but not before he tried to yank Drummer's arm off.”

“What about the second female?”

“She managed to escape. Like I said, boss, we had everything under control until the Old Bloods showed up.”

“I see,” Van Helsing said. “What about you, Peter? Was the sucker who attacked you in the subway the same one Drummer reported seeing in the park? Was she the stormgatherer?”

“I'm not sure,” Peter said, shifting uneasily. “It all happened so fast. I barely had a chance to look at her before the rat jumped me.”

“Did you see which train she was taking? Was she on the uptown or downtown platform?”

“Uptown,” Peter said quickly. “She was definitely headed uptown.”

“Very interesting,” Van Helsing said, jotting down a note.

“Are you
sure
this girl is the one you've been looking for?” Peter asked as he watched his father take in the misinformation. Why had he lied? Peter didn't like the feeling, yet he felt compelled to do it for Cally.

“Son, I've never been surer of anything in my life. Rémy, do you have any undercover agents
working outside of Manhattan?”

“I've got operatives keeping tabs on this club in Williamsburg the stormgatherer was spotted at a few weeks back.”

“Good. Have them reassigned to Midtown and the Upper East Side. If the grandmother is no longer in the picture, odds are the girl's become close with the father. Since we know who he is, it'll be easier to keep him under surveillance. He'll eventually lead us to her.”

“Yes, boss.” Rémy turned and hurried out of the office.

Peter glanced over at his father, who was scowling at the fragments of information scattered across his desk. Christopher Van Helsing pushed the various pieces of paper around with his forefinger, as if trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle. Peter knew all too well that his father could go for hours without speaking when he was in one of his moods.

“I better be going too, Dad.”

“No. Stay and talk to me, boy,” his father replied without looking up. “We're close. Very close. Your grandfather, rest his soul, taught me that the most valuable tool in a vampire hunter's arsenal is his intuition. And mine tells me that we're on the right track, son. I can feel it in my bones. The stormgatherer is the one we've been looking for.

“She's the right age. And I can assure you, from personal experience, that the old woman could throw bolts with the best of them. It only makes sense that her ability would be passed along to her granddaughter, if not amplified.

“If this girl is who I think she is—if she is
what
I think she is—then she is the greatest weapon the Van Helsing Institute has had the opportunity to use against the vampire race since Pieter himself.”

“But what if she isn't willing to help us? What happens then?”

“If she or her grandmother, assuming the old woman's still alive, proves hostile to our plans, they will have to be terminated.”

Peter blinked in surprise. “But I thought the grandmother was an old friend of yours.”

“That's true,” Van Helsing said, a flicker of regret crossing his face. “I've known Sina Monture since I was a boy. She joined the Elites back when your grandfather Leland was running things. She was one of the most powerful white witches ever to work for the Institute.

“Sina was married to Cyril Monture, your grandfather's best friend and my godfather. Neither one of them was what you'd call young, so we were all surprised when Sheila was born.

“They spoiled the baby rotten, and of course she
grew up to be one of those kids attracted to everything their parents are against. She was fascinated with vampires. Spent all her time watching movies about them, reading books about them—eventually, she went out looking for them. She even managed to find herself a vampire lover.

“Poor Cyril had a massive heart attack when he saw his daughter being carried away by that fiend. He died in my arms.

“Sina was never the same after that. Then, two years later, without any warning, she quit the Institute. We had all assumed Sheila had been turned into one of the undead, but it seems the sucker kept her as his mistress. When she became pregnant with his half-breed baby, she decided to reconcile with her mother.

“I realized the child's potential as a weapon immediately and contacted Sina. She threatened to use her powers against me if I ever came near her or her grandchild. I knew then that the woman I once knew had been irreversibly corrupted, as are all who traffic with vampires and their spawn.”

“But—termination? Is there no other way?” Peter asked, trying not to show his revulsion.

“Better that than to have the girl fall into the hands of our enemies.”

 

Peter's head was swimming as he left his father's office. As a young boy he had told the usual fibs kids tell their parents. But what he had just done was far more serious than lying about stealing cookies or playing ball in the house.

Up until this point in his life, all Peter had ever really wanted was to hunt down and destroy vampires, just like his father and his grandfather before him, going back five generations. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had been so excited about carrying out his first solo mission he'd barely been able to sleep. But now all he could think about was Cally.

He could still feel the weight and warmth of her body pressed against his own. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her face looking out at him from the window of the Brooklyn-bound train, smiling as she waved good-bye.

Peter was both thrilled and frightened by the strength of the emotions coursing through him. His father claimed that vampires were capable of corrupting even the purest heart, given enough exposure. But that couldn't possibly apply to her, could it? She wasn't like the others. The fact that he was alive proved it.

He needed to see her again the way a tiger needs to quench its thirst. But how? He knew she was living in Brooklyn, but where exactly? Suddenly he remembered Rémy mentioning a club in Williamsburg she'd been
spotted at that was under surveillance. It shouldn't be difficult to find out the name of the place—he just had to ask Rémy for the information. After all, who would suspect the boss's son, of all people, of being in love with a vampire?