Vintage Soul (21 page)

From his perch, as if on cue, Asmodeus croaked “Cleo.”

The cat started to wash her face, and Donovan breathed easier.
 
At least it seemed both animals might live to see his return.
 
He double checked the items in his bag, folded the note he'd prepared into his inside jacket pocket and turned for the door.
 
He glanced longingly at his bedroom, then stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind him with a snap.

THIRTEEN

Johndrow sat and watched as Vein paced the room.
 
There was nothing left to be said about the fiasco at Club Chaos, but there were still things to be settled between the two of them.
 
For all his anger, Johndrow understood Vein's anguish.
 
Vanessa had brought the young one to the blood, after all.
 
They were tied together in ways that Vanessa and Johndrow would never be.
 
Johndrow and Vanessa were blood-bonded, but that bond had been a choice, something cultivated over many years of shared intimacy.
 
What Vein felt was primal, like the protective instinct of a young man toward his mother.

“There has to be something we can do,” Vein said.
 
He spun to face Johndrow and dropped his palms flat on the desk between them, meeting the elder's eyes.
 
“We can't just sit back and hope the magic man pulls her through this.”

“What would you have us do?” Johndrow asked, keeping his voice neutral.
 
“We don't know where she is, and we don't know who her captor is.
 
Even if we managed to locate her, we don't know what we'd be facing; so how would we prepare?
 
We must wait.”

“I can find her,” Vein said.
 
It wasn't a boast; Johndrow saw this in the young one's eyes.
 
“I feel her.
 
The bond is weak, but it's there.
 
I could follow it.
 
You know I could, you've done so yourself, in other places, and other times.
 
I know the stories as well as any.”

Johndrow nodded.
 
It was true.
 
He'd spent an entire winter tracking the one who'd made him, but that was a different matter altogether from this.
 
That had been a journey fueled by hatred, and vengeance, and there had been only one end possible.
  
That bond had
itched
at Johndrow's thoughts and clawed at his mind.
 
That other's eyes had mocked him and the dry, lilting voice behind that gaze called out to him in tones that broke like brittle crystals.

“I had no choice,” Johndrow said.
 
“When I chose to walk that road, I walked it alone, and I knew that it was likely I would never return.
 
Vanessa brought you to us, but you came willingly enough.
 
I was taken, toyed with, and cast aside.
 
That is what I thought about each night, when I woke to the darkness, and that is what I thought about when I fed.
 
There was no time for pleasure, and no room for forgiveness.
 
This is different.”

“It is not.” Vein said flatly.
 
“You are right in saying that what she gave me is a gift that I cherish, but how does that weaken the bond?
 
I know she's held against her will.
 
I know that she's great danger, and that the bond could be severed permanently.
 
As much as you loathed the tie that bound you to the one you killed, I cherish mine.
 
I have to do something.”

“Ah, but there is a difference,” Johndrow said, rising slowly.
 
"There are two differences, in fact, distinct and important.
 
The first is that, when I tracked and killed the one who made me, there was no council in place to stop me, or to help me.
 
I was on my own, and I was going mad.
 
You, on the other hand, are not alone.
 
You have those you call friends, and you have the council.”

“What is the second difference?” Vein asked.

“DeChance,” Johndrow said, stepping around the desk to stand beside the younger vampire.
 
“You have DeChance on your side.
 
I know you don't understand it – that you probably don't believe it – but that one is strong, and he is smart. He can go places we cannot, and he can do things for us that no one else might accomplish.
 
He has a personal stake in this, as well, so there is no fear of treachery.”

“As long as the blood in his veins flows hot and red, and it is his own, he cannot be trusted,” Vein said.
 
“You yourself taught me that rule, and I have never forgotten it.
 
He may help us for the money.
 
He may even help us out of friendship.
 
It changes nothing.
 
He is what he is, and we are…something altogether different.
 
There is no way he can change the instinct that makes his kind fear our kind, and with that fragile bond in the center of your bargain, I can't trust her to him.
 
I want to, believe me.
 
I want to believe she will be here with us any moment, asking for a glass of your precious brandy and wrapping around you like a cat in heat.
 
I don't believe it, though, and that's why I have to do something – anything – other than sitting here and waiting.”

“The Council will not sanction any rash action,” Johndrow said softly.
 
“I want you to understand that.
 
I know you believe you are doing the right thing, but your attack on DeChance might have cost Vanessa her life, if it had been less ill-conceived.
  
Don't believe he'll be unprepared a second time.”

“I have no further interest in the magic man,” Vein said, glancing away toward the dark, obsidian surface of Johndrow's window shield.
 
Beyond it the afternoon shadows lengthened and stretched out dark fingers to clasp in the center and banish the light of day.

“But you will go?” Johndrow asked softly.

Vein nodded.

“I have to go.”

“If you find her,” Johndrow said, “tell DeChance where she is.
 
Don't try to get in alone.
 
Don't try to do it by yourself.
 
I know you want to, but that's your pride speaking, and pride speaks only for fools.
 
Don't let thoughts of revenge, or heroism, cloud your judgment.
 
Whoever took Vanessa is no fool, and he will know you are coming – you or someone like you.
 
He will be aware of the blood bond, and he will use it to his advantage.”

Vein turned to the door with a shrug.
 
“If he has blood, I will make it mine.
 
You can count on that.”

He stepped through the door and pulled it closed behind him.
 
Johndrow stood in silence and watched him go.
  
When he was sure Vein was out of sight, and hearing, he whispered.

“Bring her back to me, Vein.
 
Bring back my life.”

~ * ~

Vein took the private elevator down to the garage level.
 
His car waited for him, as he had known it would.
 
The others were already in the back, and the trunk was loaded with the equipment they expected to need.
 
He'd only visited Johndrow out of a sensation of grudging respect.
 
If Vanessa saw something in this man to look up to, the least Vein could do was to acknowledge it.
 
That was as far as he was willing to go, however.

He had lied to the elder on several counts, or, at the very least he hadn't been fully forthcoming.
 
Foremost among the things he'd left out of their conversation was the fact that he was pretty certain he already knew where Vanessa was being kept.
 
He'd followed the weak thread of the blood bond since the night of her capture, and after countless weaving, spiraling drives up and down the streets of the city, he'd managed to pinpoint where that bond was strongest.

Since the meeting with DeChance, Vein had been obsessed with two things.
 
He needed to find and free Vanessa from whomever, or whatever had taken her so easily, and he wanted revenge on the magic man and the woman.
 
Vein had worked long years to earn the respect of his small band of followers.
 
They weren't old in the blood, and there wasn't a very bright bulb among them, but they were loyal.
 
Seeing him bested publicly, and with such indifference, had been a blow to his ego, and to the loyalty and courage of his small posse.
  
For the moment it was on the back burner, but it was an insult that couldn't be ignored.
 
That's how Vein saw it, anyway.

He stepped off the curb as the sleek limo pulled out of its assigned spot and drew up beside him.
 
The rear door opened and Vein slid inside.
 
The others waited, all dressed in the long dark overcoats and dark sunglasses they preferred.
 
It was an affectation, and Vein knew it.
 
The world around them changed every few decades.
 
Styles came and went, and with each transformation of that outer world, a more subtle shift ran through Vein's own.
 
This new wave was born of bad movies, old westerns, cheesy gothic novels and a simple desire to be “cool” that had not faded with the years.
 
Vein was young enough to have clear memories of the time before he'd met Vanessa, and even in those early days of America, the long coat and gruff demeanor was in style.
 
It hadn't changed that much over the years, and for the first time in the history of humanity, vampires were “cool” just by existing.
 
It was a good time to be undead, and Vein intended to make the most of it, regardless of the edicts and warnings of the elders.
 
It was his time.

“Did you find everything?” he asked.

A blonde man in the front seat nodded.
 
His hair was cut in a flat top, and his collar was turned up, shielding his face from view.
 
This was Bruno, who was the youngest in the blood, but had been the oldest at the time of his transformation.
 
He appeared to be in his mid forties, and it bothered him that he didn't fit in well with the others, all of whom had given up the breathing life in their twenties. More than once he'd been mistaken for their father, or some sort of teacher with his class on a field trip.
 
He was tall, broad, and a half-notch smarter than the others.
 
Vein counted on him when there was anything more than the simplest of planning involved.

“Right here,” Bruno said, patting the seat between himself and the driver, who paid no attention to him at all.
  
Kali had been eighteen when she was taken, and beautiful.
 
She, like Johndrow, had been taken against her will, and her attitude had never improved.
 
She hung with Vein and his crew because they paid little attention to the rules, and because Vein had promised her that eventually he would help her hunt down the one who had changed her.
 
She didn't speak unless spoken to, and most of the others steered clear of her when Vein wasn't present.
 
She liked that just fine.

Vein watched her for a moment as she pulled out of the private garage and onto the streets.
 
He felt a special kinship with Kali that he lacked with the others, and he knew he'd have to pursue it eventually.
 
Everything in its time.

“We had a little trouble with some of it,” Bruno said, breaking the silence.
 
“That was expected, though, and we handled it.”

“We'll deal with that when it's over,” Vein said, dismissing the matter.
 
“If we succeed, no one is going to begrudge us the few things we took, and if we don't?”

He shrugged, and none of his companions felt compelled to fill in the blanks.
 
If they failed they weren't likely to be coming back at all – at least not in any condition for immediate punishment.
 
All of them had issues with the elders in one way or another, and this was put up or shut up time.
 
They'd been saying for years, at least since they linked their various cars to the “Vein train,” that they knew how to handle themselves, now it was time to prove it.

The sun had dropped the final few feet below the horizon and the city was drenched in twilight.
 
Some street lights flickered on, others awaited more complete darkness.
 
Businesses were caught in that dead zone between daylight and fluorescent splendor.
 
Neon kicked in here and there, but was mostly silent, that gaseous, humming incandescence saved for the darker shadows.
 
Bright lights to keep the city safe, dark, beautiful colored neon to lure them back into shadows.
 
Vein loved the twilight.