Blood Legacy: The House Of Alexander Part 20

Aeron's blue eyes grew icy. Good thing for Julien that he was already dead.

"She had Julien by the throat, dangling him above the ground. And she said, 'my father, Victor Alexander, will always be the leader of our Kind'." The woman's voice trailed off, and Aeron knew there was more.

"And what else did she say?" he prompted, vaguely threatening.

The woman swallowed hard. "She said, 'And in his absence, I am King.'"

Abigail glanced at Aeron out of the corner of her eye. She now knew why Ryan had spared this insignificant. She had left a message for Aeron.

And Aeron had certainly received it, although he did not react as expected. "That cheeky little whelp," he said with more amus.e.m.e.nt than anger. The girl was continually full of surprises.

Abigail motioned to the woman, who bowed low and backed quickly from their presence, disappearing. Abigail took one last look around at the carnage, then turned to both Kusunoki and Aeron.

"So how does one slay a dragon," she asked, "When the dragon cannot be slain?"

CHAPTER 17.

RYAN KNELT BESIDE VICTOR'S BED. He lay in peaceful repose, unmoved from the last time she had seen him. She held his hand for a moment, then settled into a lounge next to his bed, extending the footrest outward so she had a makes.h.i.+ft bed. She leaned her head back into the soft cus.h.i.+on, gazing at his beautiful features with unblinking eyes.

She was trying to will the pain from her head to go away. She knew it would eventually subside, but it seemed to be staying longer. This forced her to visit the island more often, and to stay for longer periods of time. Fortunately she had already done ample damage in her hunt, and was no longer concerned about the Council's edict. She had obeyed Victor's wishes, and that was suffcient.

Ryan returned her gaze to her father, feeling a great heaviness descend upon her. Susan was working feverishly, but had found nothing substantial since her discoveries with the mitochondria. Ryan still did not understand why the internal damage was not affecting her the way it had affected her father.

Ryan became aware of Edward's presence in the door. He was mindful of her mood and stood respectfully at a distance. But the pain in her head was pa.s.sing, and her thoughts were returning to coherency.

"Edward, I need you to do me a favor."

Edward bowed low. "Anything, my lord."

Ryan was thoughtful. "I need you to pull all the records from the hospital we purchased, the one that Dr. Ryerson used to work at."

David Goldstein sat in the dimly lit cafeteria of The Sister Guadalupe Hospital, wondering how his life could have come to this. At the height of his career, he had been a well-paid, highly-respected doctor at a major medical research facility. Now he was working graveyard s.h.i.+ft in this dive, treating uninsured patients for whatever exotic diseases they had smuggled across the border. Although he couldn't say exactly how, he was certain that Susan Ryerson was somehow responsible for this.

He smiled bitterly. His only consolation was that, after her brief stint in the limelight, Susan Ryerson had dropped off the face of the earth. After he had been "let go" by the hospital's new management for a series of trumped up s.e.xual hara.s.sment charges, he had tried to track her down, certain she had been the one behind the allegations. But she had been impossible to find.

He leaned back in his chair. He had been briefly flush with funds after his windfall, thanks to the blood sample he had stolen from Ryerson's laboratory. But he had gone through that money quickly. And now he was forced to make ends meet by treating the dregs of humanity in this h.e.l.lhole.

"Dr. Goldstein, we have a patient coming in by ambulance."

Goldstein gave the nurse in the doorway a look of irritation. "I'll be there in a minute," he said. Probably another drunk Mexican, he thought to himself, fresh from driving his family into a tree.

Goldstein stood, tripping over the leg of his chair then kicking it in frustration. He didn't see how this night could get any worse. He was given an immediate answer when the lights flickered and then went out.

"Well, that's just f.u.c.king great," he muttered under his breath. The electrical system in the place was about as reliable as a condom made of cheesecloth. He smiled to himself. That was pretty funny. He'd have to remember to use that later in front of the ladies.

What little light in the room slowly disappeared as the door whispered closed. Goldstein's irritation grew. "That's real f.u.c.king funny," he said loudly, his words echoing in the sudden silence. The refrigeration unit to the vending machine kicked on, startling him. He turned around and gave it a kick as well, cracking the plastic logo.

"You seem to be having some difficulty with inanimate objects."

Goldstein whirled at the voice from the shadows. It was smooth with an indefinable quality to it, something both ancient and young. He heard the sharp strike of a match and an outlined form was briefly illuminated in the flame. The figure cupped the match, expertly lighting a small thin cigar.

"Who the f.u.c.k are you?" Goldstein demanded with far more bravado than he was feeling.

A striking golden-haired woman stepped into the dim glow of the vending machine. Under normal circ.u.mstances, Goldstein would have let his appreciation for such a fine specimen be immediately, and probably tastelessly, known.

But these were not normal circ.u.mstances.

"I'm surprised you don't recognize me," the woman said, blowing out a fine stream of smoke. She gazed at the glowing end of the cigar with unblinking eyes. "Of course the last time you saw me, I was dead in the emergency room."

Goldstein's eyes narrowed. He tried to get angry at the preposterous statement, but a very primitive fear in him was beginning to grow. The girl did look familiar.

"Uh, yeah, whatever. I have an ER to get to," he said. He started to push by her, but her next words stopped him cold.

"So what did you do with the research you stole from Dr. Ryerson's laboratory?"

The name inspired fury in Goldstein that overwhelmed his common sense. "That b.i.t.c.h, if she said-".

Goldstein could not finish the sentence because his ability to speak was compromised by the grip at his throat as he was lifted off the ground and slammed backward into the wall. Peeling plaster crumpled on his head as he flailed about like a garroted fish.

At that moment, the door whispered open, and a tiny, rotund Hispanic nurse leaned in. "Dr. Gold-"

Her voice trailed off as she took in the scene. A very tall woman dressed in black held Dr. Goldstein off the ground by the neck with one hand. The woman casually held a cigar in the other.

"Dr. Goldstein will be with you in a moment," the woman said politely.

The tiny nurse nodded, and with wide eyes backed from the room, letting the door whisper closed once more. She thought about calling security, but then thought again. Dr. Goldstein could be a punta. She crossed herself, asking forgiveness for the foul language, and headed back to the ER.

"Or maybe not," Ryan said casually, turning back to Goldstein. "That depends on what you tell me."

Goldstein's eyes bugged out of his head as he clawed for air.

"Oh that's right," Ryan said, "You probably can't tell me much of anything right now, can you?"

Goldstein tried to shake his head.

"Very well, then, blink once for yes, twice for no. Do you understand?"

Goldstein accidentally blinked twice, then blinked once trying to make up for it.

"Okay, that was three times. Are you a complete idiot?"

Goldstein blinked frantically.

Ryan took a long draw from her cigar. "Hmmm. That's debatable." She flicked some ashes from the glowing end. "Just so you know, Dr. Ryerson did not say anything to me. That was quite a lucky guess on my part. A review of the files recorded after I purchased the hospital revealed you were one of the few employees to be let go. You also happen to be the only one to deposit a large sum of money shortly thereafter.

Goldstein's eyes bugged further. This couldn't be the person who had bought the hospital.

"So what did you take?" Ryan asked, releasing her grip just enough to let him speak.

"Bl-," he tried hoa.r.s.ely. "Blood. Just a vial of blood."

Ryan's eyes narrowed. This was much worse than she thought. She leaned very close to the terrified man, her grip tightening once more.

"You stole my blood."

Goldstein shook his head frantically. "No, it couldn't have been," he croaked. "That was a synthetic. It couldn't have been human."

Ryan leaned even closer, and blinked without closing her eyes.

Goldstein had a terrifying flashback to a shark doc.u.mentary. He could hear the guide's conversational discussion of the shark's second eyelid, used only in the midst of a b.l.o.o.d.y feeding frenzy.

"Do I look human to you?" Ryan whispered through clenched teeth.

Goldstein blinked four times.

"I didn't think so."

Ryan abruptly released him and he fell into a crumpled heap on the floor. He tried to huddle in the corner. Ryan took a deep draw on the cigar, blowing the smoke on the cringing man.

"Who did you sell it to?" Ryan asked.

Goldstein was far beyond his fear of consequence from any human adversary. He gave up the name instantly "Grant," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "Alan Grant from Grantech International."

Ryan sat perched on the edge of the skysc.r.a.per like some great gargoyle, some forty stories above ground. The penthouse lights cast eerie shadows, throwing her into odd relief. She could see her reflection and was amused by it. The dramatic uplighting reminded her of modern monster movies.

Of course all movies were modern to her, she thought, so that didn't narrow it down much.

She sat patiently, entertaining herself with her last image of David Goldstein, stuffed into the vending machine, the neon logo flas.h.i.+ng off and on as it sparked above his head. She knew that Susan would have enjoyed the overall composition and theme of her performance art.

Ryan's expression darkened. When Ryan told Susan of the theft of the vial of blood, Susan was greatly concerned, as well as mortified at the compromise of her research. Ryan dismissed her concerns over the theft, but shared her concern at the item seized. At least the knowledge that it was Ryan's blood allowed Susan to begin to narrow the scope of her current search.

Ryan's attention was brought back to the matter at hand when the gla.s.s door slid open and her prey stepped out onto the balcony. She eyed Alan Grant, trying to control the rage that was burning its way through her veins. She was concerned for a moment that the virus was making another appearance. She could not afford to lose control, black out, and dismember him.

At least not until she had the information she came for, she thought, her eyes narrowing. Then she could dismember him.

She leaped down lightly behind him, landing like a jungle cat. He was oblivious to her presence as he leaned over the balcony. It was apparent by his body language that he was not completely comfortable at that height, although that did not stop him from making a rude noise and spitting his effluence over the edge.

"Cla.s.sic."

Alan Grant turned toward her and Ryan hit him solidly in the chest with the flat of her palm, toppling him backward over the edge. She caught him easily by one ankle, stepping up onto the edge as she did so.

"Do not scream Mr. Grant, or I will drop you."

Grant had started to scream, but it was cut off when he smacked his head on the side of the building. Ryan gave him a little shake to make certain he was paying attention as she balanced precariously on the edge.

"I am going to ask you some questions, Mr. Grant, and I want you to answer them quickly and without prevarication, because I have little time and less patience."

Grant looked down at the ground, his eyes wide with fear. It was a little-known fact that he was terrified of heights. He tried to look up at whatever was holding him so effortlessly by the ankle. When he caught sight of the stunning but demonic creature holding him, he looked back at the ground as the lesser of two evils.

Ryan shook him again, smacking his head against the building once more. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes! Yes!" the petrified man said.

"Good. Your accomplice, David Goldstein was a little slow on the uptake. But he eventually got on board with the program."

Grant frantically searched his memory banks for the name. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. The demon helped him.

"David Goldstein sold you a vial of blood that he stole from the research laboratory of Dr. Susan Ryerson."

The memories locked into place. Grant knew immediately what she was talking about.

"You're with that other man, aren't you? The creepy British guy?" Grant asked, horrified. That old b.a.s.t.a.r.d had scared him to death with his obscure threats.

"Creepy British guy?'' She was thoughtful. "I'm not certain Edward would approve of being called the 'creepy British guy.'" The demon found this terribly amusing. "No, I'm fairly certain he would not approve at all."

Ryan raised him higher so that he could somewhat see her face. She leaned closer. "And just so you know, Edward is like," she paused, searching for the appropriate phrase, "He is like a little brother to me," she finished.

Grant could not control his bowels. If that madman was like a "little brother" to this one...

Ryan wrinkled her nose. "You know, I have an excellent sense of smell. You are not giving me much incentive to hold on to you."

"Jesus, lady. Whatever you want from me, I have money," Grant said, tears streaming down, or rather up, his face, which was turning red from hanging upside down.

Ryan's mocking tone turned serious and deadly quiet. "I could buy you a thousand times over," she said. She had to close her eyes a moment to control the rage that was rising in her. She felt the virus stir, felt the blood red haze fall upon her. She opened her eyes, forcing herself to focus.

"All I want is information. I want to know who you sold the vial to."

Grant shook his head violently. "I don't know."

Ryan started to lower him, and he choked on a scream.

"I mean I really don't know!" Grant began babbling almost incoherently. "I was going to use the blood to develop drugs for Grantech. But then I was approached with an offer that I couldn't refuse."

Ryan leaned forward again. "What kind of offer?"

"A hundred million dollars," Grant said, sobbing. "A hundred million dollars for a simple vial of blood."

Ryan felt the rage rise again. She smacked his head hard.

"You sold my father for a pittance," she said through gritted teeth.

Now Grant had no idea what she was talking about, although he was quite certain she was insane. He hoped the h.e.l.l her father wasn't going to show up, too.