Werewolf Nights (The Pack Trilogy Book 2) (12 page)

Petra threw him an evil eye, but said nothing and followed her captors up a circular staircase. The room she entered was strange, to say the least. It was almost an exact replica of her room at Heureuse, right down to the mock elephant-foot side tables she’d found in Africa.

The bed cover, the curtains and pillows were different, though. At Heureuse, her color scheme was deep blues and chocolate brown with a pop of red here and there. Mickey had different tastes as this room was done in deep regal reds and gold.

The closet was another shock, and quite a disconcerting one as well. It was full of gorgeous clothing, all of it in her size. She dressed for dinner, mind whirling. He certainly intended to keep her for a while, judging by the appearances of things alone.

Unless she could somehow change his mind.

***

She was led to the end of a gorgeous dining table, laden with all kinds of food. Mickey, with his hat cocked slightly on his head, sat at the other end, twirling his mustache.

“Not so bad, is it?” he asked with a complacent grin.

“Sit and eat while thousands die, and you say it’s not bad?” Petra shot back angrily.

“Shit happens. It won’t last much longer anyway, I predict,” he said with a laugh.

Petra was surprised that his voice was so high and light. She’d had him figured as a real man’s man, not like this at all. He’d certainly been nothing but gracious. Under a different set of circumstances, they’d probably have been friends.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asked, after a brief silence.

“I might not answer, but you can ask.”

“Have you ever been into the same sex?”

Petra’s jaw dropped, and she was unable to say a word.

“Is it that awful a thought?” Mickey asked, studying her face.

“No, I just didn’t expect that line of questioning from someone who seems to otherwise be playing the perfect gentleman – and I did try it a couple times. Not really my thing, but I have nothing against it.”

“You didn’t try it the right way, obviously.”

“What are you trying to say? You into watching?”

Her voice was full of disgust. He roared with laughter.

“Not in the least. Might be that there’s something you don’t know, though you think you know everything.”

Petra frowned, confused.

“Watch and learn,” he demanded.

She rolled her eyes.

“Look at me, dammit.”

His tone was sharper than it had been yet, so she obediently locked her eyes on his face.

He deliberately peeled off his mustache, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached up, took the hat and sailed it across the room, exposing short black hair parted on the side.

Then he took his napkin, dunked it into his water goblet, and patted his entire face with it, to her confusion. Whatever next?

He turned away from her, but she still saw him reach under his chin and pull upward. Then a skin-colored mask went flying across the room. He turned back, and he looked odd. His face was pale white, whether from a product worn under the mask or his own color… she had no idea.

He waited a moment, eying her as if waiting for a response, but Petra was lost.

Lost, that is, until he whipped the short black wig off and a familiar bush of frizz exploded out from under it.

“God, it can’t be,” Petra whispered. “Elinor?”

“No other. Fooled you, didn’t I?” she said with her usual large grin, but this time Petra noticed a darkness behind it.

“So. Mickey was really Minnie all along, eh?”

Elinor laughed.

“I really am into you, you know. Have been for years. They all think I want to take down your Alpha because of some ridiculous power trip thing. Nope. I just want his mate.”

She watched Petra closely.

“I don’t see how you could be – you don’t even know me that well.”

“You’d be surprised at what I do and don’t know,” she said. “Raya and that Bathory bitch, for starters. How could you be into a male who was into that?”

“Two sides to every story. I’d have thought you of all people would get that,” Petra said. She had to be careful: Elinor was obviously not sane. That she’d kept up a secret this long – she had to be more than a little crazy by now, evidenced by the disease she’d let loose. “What do you want from me?”

“Something you probably can’t give. I realize that now. I made a mistake where you were concerned and I want to atone. I am what I am, mark my words! I’m not going to change, but I can give you a gift. A gift that could save you from losing your life, the lives of your loved ones, hell any lives at all if you can figure out how to use it!” She laughed. “You didn’t think it would be that easy?”

“How did you start all this? I know about Art and the DNA missile but he doesn’t get how it went bad. What happened?”

Elinor rang a small bell, then called out, “Send in my gift, please.”

Petra had no idea what to expect. A pudgy guy in his thirties wearing a cowboy hat strolled out, walked to Elinor, and stood beside her chair.

“Antoine! Meet Petra. Petra, this is a vampire. A real one. Didn’t know they existed, did you? He’s the only one of his kind, how about that?”

“What does he have to do with that DNA business?” Petra wondered.

“Art had a lot more to do with it than he told you. He invented the process where a certain DNA strand can be targeted, but he couldn’t figure out the delivery method. He said he had to have a way to send it through the air quickly in order to cover a lot of space. He had no idea until one night he had this really powerful dream.

“He dreamt of a thick mist that hovered above a group, and just one person slapped their neck like they had a mosquito bite. The mist traveled around the globe, landed in Paris. Then it entered a certain graveyard outside Paris, and right into a specific grave! Of course we went, and in the dead of night we dug up a coffin covered in chains, with crosses all over it. On the top was a plaque that had three pictures engraved: A dead nun hanging over a casket, blood dripping from her hand onto it. Then a man partway out of the casket, his arms wrapped around a person whose head was back, screaming. Finally that person crumpled up dead next to that casket. The guy standing with his arms open, mist coming from him. It seemed clear enough to us.”

“Did you do all that? Nun too?” Petra wondered, trying to act nonchalant but utterly horrified. A dead nun!

“Yeah, we did it all. Antoine here is the result. He’ll tell you the rest.”

“She always get it wrong,” the man said with a strong French accent. He started to tell his story in broken sentences and phrases, but otherwise good English. “The nun, not needed. Any human would do. Those who put me into my grave, they put the nun in the hieroglyphs to frighten others from releasing me. Back where she lives, I met Art. He worked day and night on I don’t know what, really. But one day he finishes and is excited and she is too. These humans, they gave to me my life. I owe them. So when the doctor says he has something that might work if they could test on somebody, I took myself. What could it do, kill me?” He grinned so widely at his little joke that Petra had to join him.

“But it did do one thing. A fog came out of me! A black mist. And the fog, it left. When I ask the Doctor Art what is such a thing, he said he put sleeping bacteria things in my blood with a piece of DNA. When it meets the same of this DNA the bacteria things they awake you see. I don’t know what is DNA or bacteria, but awake I understand.”

“I barely get it and I was born in this century,” Petra assured him. He seemed like an otherwise decent guy… just a matter of bad company, she guessed. “But bacteria are little tiny things with no brains,” she tried to explain. “That fog of yours sure acted smart when it chased me!”

“Doctor Art, he say the DNA can make you smart. If your mom smart, you too because DNA.” For the first time, the man looked troubled. “I’m not smart for sure, do not think I think that, but the, mist it came back to me. The Doctor Art thinks the mist believes I’m its father.”

Petra was beginning to understand, however vaguely. “So when this bacteria and some kind of DNA entered you, it sort of clicked with another DNA and created a whole bunch of smart bacteria in that mist.”

“Sentient disease, the Doctor Art says. It came back first time, showed me picture of swamp with dead fish and birds. Same picture many times like asking. I didn’t do a thing so it left. Came back later showed picture of swamp, then of New Orleans – then of a big mist, then two small ones. Strange. Doctor Art thinks it learned that the more it kills the stronger it gets, then it makes another of itself and it came to show off.”

“God,” Petra said. “That gives me the shivers. A smart disease that grows from killing? Great. Just great.”

“Ergo, I give Antoine to you, smart bugs and all,” Elinor said. “Never say I didn’t give you anything.” She gave a small, wry grin. “Antoine, get her home and this time try not to kill the fucking world while you’re at it.”

Elinor stood and left the table, never looking back.

Chapter Seventeen

In a blink, they were stepping at a quick pace across her manicured Louisiana lawn. Back at Heureuse, Petra introduced Antoine to Cilla and Joseph. Then she called a pack meeting, with all three vampires in attendance.

When the Pack was assembled, she said, “I’ve learned about this disease. How it started, what it is. Not how to stop it! But maybe if we all know this strange story, we can come up with answers.” And she told the story as she knew it, hiding only Elinor’s identity. That she might be able to use, one day, if it became necessary.

When she was finished with the convoluted tale, there was dead silence for a while as everyone mulled over what she’d said.

“The Illuminati told me something about blood; blood to blood. They mentioned Joseph, too,” Raya said. “What could that even mean?”

A wound spontaneously opened on Joseph’s arm, and blood oozed out for several moments while the group stared in fascination. As quickly as it had opened, the wound closed.

Raya stared at where the wound had been, a puzzled look on his face.

“What does that mean?”

“You asked for a cure, it looks like my blood is the answer,” Joseph said.

“Assuming you’re right and your blood is the cure, we need to test this out,” Petra said. “How on earth do we do that?”

“Half the damn city is sick,” Itchiko volunteered. “The mayor asked everyone who has the illness in their house to put a red bow on their door, so as not to infect the mail man and so on. We find a sick family and test there.”

“That’s a great idea,” Raya said. “We’ll take a vial of Joseph’s blood with us.”

“No! You need me in person,” Joseph protested. “What if a vial isn’t enough?”

“Then it isn’t sure as hell enough to save a city or the nation, either. No, we’ll test with the vial. If one shot doesn’t work, we’re back at square one, unfortunately,” the Alpha said in a tone that tolerated no dissention. “We leave in ten.”

The local police force was

patrolling the streets, stopping every vehicle on the roadways, so the small group decided to walk toward the city. Surely they’d find a good place to test en route.

They found one three miles down the main road from Heureuse’s driveway. Raya knew who lived there: a man, his wife, his mom and their three children. Sure enough, there was a large red bow on the door.

He knocked, and a voice yelled, “Go away. We have sick people in here!”

“This is Raya from Heureuse! We’re neighbors and we might have a cure; we need to test it if you’re willing!” Raya yelled back.

There was silence, then a chain rattling and the door opened.

The man Raya remembered stood there coughing heavily in a ratty bathrobe.

“I really hope y’all do have a cure. Ain’t nobody else got shit, according to the TV.”

“Who is the sickest?” Petra asked. “Maybe we should start there. And do you mind if we make a video of it?” She held up her phone.

The man sighed and hung his head.

“No, that’s fine. And that would be Mom. She’s in her 80s. I’m Tim, by the way, Tim Henderson.”

Petra introduced herself as they walked in and to the back of the house, which had a musty, sick smell. There were definite drawbacks to being a werewolf, she thought. Her heightened sense of smell was not doing her any favors at that moment.

Tim knocked lightly on a door. There was no response, so he shrugged and opened it.

A figure lay on her side facing away from the door, her breathing loud as she literally fought for every breath. As Petra rounded the bed, she caught sight of the old woman’s arms and face, and her own heart sank.

The arms looked like she’d been in a knife fight. Many long slices, some still oozing blood, lay on both arms and across her cheeks. Petra took video of it all.

Petra eyed Raya with a raised brow. Raya patted his pocket and raised his own brow. She nodded, and he withdrew the hypodermic needle filled with Joseph’s blood. For this first test, they’d give a small to average dose of 15 milliliters. Couldn’t hurt, and if it really helped, they’d use a smaller dose next.