Vampire - Kiss Of Darkness Part 26

Jessica strode among them, bold, her cape and leather cowl making her one with the shadows to any outside observer. She eavesdropped as she went.

A young group of literary fanatics who had taken the tales of New Orleans far too seriously were dressed as if they had returned to the 1700s. There was a little group of t.i.ttering girls, pierced and tattooed, all in black, some with sweeping skirts and others with little more than kerchiefs covering their b.u.t.ts. There were a few drunks, growing too loud, giggling.

And then there were those moving among them. Those who seemed to be calculating, choosing their positions. Those who were not from New Orleans...those who had come only for this night, for the easily led, the misled, those looking for something in their lives...those upon whom they could feast. She could feel the leashed hunger in them and knew they were savoring the antic.i.p.ation, grateful to the power of the Master that allowed them that pleasure.

"He will come," someone said, stopping Jessica. It was a tall, slender, dark-haired man. He wasn't old, but his eyes held both knowledge and weariness.

And sweet licentious patience.

"But then, you know that. You are his beloved servant. The world knows about the dominatrix." He bowed, as if she were royalty.

She had done well, starting rumors in Transylvania, she thought dryly. In Transylvania, the Master had not known he had a dominatrix, but everyone else had. When she arrived at the castle in the woods, she had been easily accepted. Those who had heard, who had felt the summons, had heard about the dominatrix, as well. They had welcomed her; they had looked up to her.

Of course. She was what she was. And she knew how to play a part.

Now the Master knew, too. He would be waiting. Before, perhaps he had been baiting her. Tonight...

She should have recruited help. She should at least have told Sean what she was doing.

No, she couldn't have risked his life.

In Transylvania, she'd had faith in herself. She'd had the element of surprise. But she had failed; she'd miscalculated. She'd thought herself so powerful, had waited, planned on perfect timing, but even so, she'd failed.

Her timing had only been off by seconds, but those seconds had cost Mary her life. She couldn't have brought others along tonight, not when she had failed so badly last time. After all, tonight, he was expecting her. Waiting for her.

She gritted her teeth. Win or lose, she had to believe in her own power, had to believe, perhaps even more important, in the rightness of what she was doing.

She smiled. "It won't really begin here," she said matter-of-factly, desperately groping, since she had no idea what the Master had planned. Certainly, if he had arranged a place, as he had done in Transylvania, it would be much farther from the city lights than this. But she didn't know where, and she needed to get this man to talk. "The Master doesn't like things...messy."

"No, I know. I've heard there will a dozen coaches waiting. He can command those around him to blindness, march down the street in daylight and not be noticed. Tonight he will take us to a place where we can savor all that we thirst for.... but then, you know that."

There would be no coaches, she thought dryly. Not here. The Master was too smart to be that obvious. There would be a few limousines, probably, but they would move in darkness and shadows. As her companion had said, somehow they would not be noticed.

"You are the dominatrix, are you not? In Transylvania, we had word that she would be there, would welcome us, then finally give us permission to strike." He paused then moved closer. "Beware. Someone impersonated the dominatrix that night. She killed many. There was a warrior who appeared, as well." He shuddered, as if at the memory.

"But we will be safe tonight," she said, feeling the muscles in her jaw grow tight at the word "warrior." She still didn't know where the event was scheduled to take place, and she was growing frustrated, but she had to play this carefully. "Where have you traveled from?" she asked. He had the hint of an accent, but it wasn't one she could place.

He waved a hand. "France. Immediately after the battle in Transylvania, we knew the Master would plan a grand event right away. We all seek revenge," he said. "Sadly, many an ancient vampire fell, but even against deceit and treachery, the Master survived. He will not be defeated." He moved closer to her. "We've not had the pleasure of meeting." He bowed, a breath away from her, his smile sensual as he rose and faced her again. "I am Henri, Comte de Vallier. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance." He came closer still, whispering against her ear, "I have been around a long time. I have so much experience."

"Do you?" she asked.

"Indeed. I have sucked many a beauty dry, yet she has died whimpering my name in sheer ecstasy."

She touched his face. "You have taken the lives of innocents? Relished the cries of the dying?"

He smiled slowly, as if they had become best friends, conspirators. "They say that it is different today. That we have to think of the greater good. That we do not have to be monsters. But I say we are what we are. Still, I have found ways.... I often prey upon those who are not long for this world, anyway. Still, I do admit, I have a weakness for women. Beautiful young women. But what I can do for them in turn..."

He drew a finger along her arm with tremendous insinuation. "I know that you are beloved of the Master," he whispered.

"Everyone says so."

"Do they?" she asked coyly.

"But you are free, are you not? I've heard that you are more than pleased to...entertain your own kind, as well as dine upon the blood of our prey. The Master knows what we are, what we need, how we must live. Our so-called king is an idiot. He believes humans will accept our kind if we learn to live in their world. What is their world but a vast feeding ground for us? The Master understands this, and so I wors.h.i.+p him. Though I am tempted beyond sin by you, I would not trespa.s.s upon what the Master considers his."

"I am not his, I am my own," she said, strangely torn. Henri had killed and killed again-would continue to kill. She was heartsick, thinking of the beautiful women who had died because of his depredations.

Women like Mary.

No, not like Mary. The Master had allowed Mary to rise again to serve his purpose. Henri, she was certain, seldom, if ever, left a victim with the capacity to come back to life-no, not life, existence. Was that better? She would never know. She had meant to send Mary back to the grave, yet in the end, she had been unable to carry out that plan.

Yet there were things he said that echoed painfully in her heart. In what world would they ever be accepted? In what world could they ever be regarded without fear?

They heard a giggle from the shadows down a dark path lined by ornate mausoleums. He smiled, licked his lips. In the strange moonlight, a fang glowed with the b.l.o.o.d.y color of the night.

"Tempting," he murmured. "And I am hungry. Perhaps just a taste, before it all begins." "Careful," Jessica warned. "We can't leave bodies strewn about, just waiting to be discovered."

His smile deepened. He slipped an arm around her. "There is nothing like the feel of a beating young heart, the beauty of youthful, living flesh. I can all but taste the blood now. In fact, I believe I must, but, my dear dominatrix, I will allow you the first taste."

She pretended to consider his words; then she reached beneath her cape.

She struck before he knew what happened. The stake was small but very sharp, carved from strong oak. She slipped it straight between his ribs.

He stared at her, not comprehending at first.

Then, for a fleeting second, a look of rage, of incredulous disbelief, swept through his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak. His lips curled back, fangs glistening.

Then, without a sound, he crumbled.

Dust...to dust.

The last things to go were the s.h.i.+mmering red teeth and the fire of fury in his eyes.

It was as if she had been alone all along. The dust that had been the vampire lay at her feet, mingling with the dirt, as she stood in the shadow of the silent, s.h.i.+mmering, houses of the dead. An angel with broken wings held her silent vigil atop a mausoleum, seeming to weep in silence. All was still.

She looked around the cemetery, her dark-adapted eyes picking out deeper shadows in the night.

Some eager for a feast.

Some the innocents, lambs for slaughter.

Sleight of hand, tricks of the eye. The forte of the Master.

The limos began to arrive. Dozens of them. Bryan kept his distance, watching from the cover of a society tomb created in the form of a pyramid.

It began with the mist, a damp fog the color of blood. It didn't settle over the cemetery; it came as if it had a life of its own, swirling, rising, creating a fantasy of mystery, a sense of the unreal and the spectacular. It spread to the streets, hiding the arrival of the long black, vehicles. There were hushed whispers, some of wicked amus.e.m.e.nt, some of sheer excitement.

The sheep and the wolves. Together.

He watched. They wore all manner of dress, making it difficult to tell the hunters from the hunted. There were the Goths in black, their long, sweeping cloaks brus.h.i.+ng the ground. There were beautiful women in fitted dresses with regal purple velvet and lace.

There were those in simple street wear, clothing for a night on the town, for barhopping and listening to the best jazz New Orleans had to offer. Some were surely in costume, Casanova-style, colonial, medieval. Street toughs, lovely waifs, all entered the limos, some giggling at the delicious daring of what they were doing, others in calculating silence. Strangers flirted with one another. Old friends linked arms, eager and wide-eyed. All disappearing into the blood-red mist.

He waited, watched. The last of the cars was filled. He bided his time, took a long and agile leap, and lay spread-eagled atop the last of the cars.

Like wraiths, the limos traveled the streets, following the path of the mighty Mississippi.He looked back, and it looked as if the moon had brought the statues to life. Winged angels seemed to struggle to move. To cry out.

And in the end, to weep.

Their destination was a plantation, old and abandoned. Jessica was surprised that some enterprising corporation hadn't rehabbed the place and turned it into an inn or a restaurant.

The drive that led to the house was rough, once a grand path, now an overgrown trail of tree roots and leaves. Jessica was sure it couldn't even be seen from the road, so far had nature encroached.

The red mist had followed them. When the limos came to a stop, it seemed as if they had reached the end of the world, a fifth dimension, a place of crimson fantasy.

People began to pour out of the cars.

Even the trail to the decaying porch was covered with vines and overgrowth. From within the plantation house itself, a red light created a glow of invitation. The partygoers hurried on, anxious for the unique and elite festivities to begin.

Jessica pushed her way forward, anxious to become oriented as quickly as possible herself.

It was a true plantation house, doorways built to allow the air to flow from porch to porch, upstairs and down. No doubt there were slaves' quarters, a smokehouse, barns and more somewhere on the property.

A large-screen TV played in the parlor off the main entry. Obviously a generator was running somewhere to provide power. A once grand and sweeping staircase led to the upper floor. In the great foyer, a bar had been created of old butcher-block tables and stocked in advance. A young man, the look in his eyes vague, was ready to serve drinks, including, of course, b.l.o.o.d.y Marys.

Jessica made her way to the bar. The bartender greeted her. "h.e.l.lo, you're the dominatrix, of course. I'd heard you were coming."

"Oh?" Her heart hammered. The Master was expecting her tonight.

The bartender stared at her and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

She leaned over the bar, very close to him, fixing him with her eyes. "You need to leave. Now."

"Leave..." He was ready to obey. "How?"

"Go out the back. Head to the river and walk along it until you find a boat. Just get out of here, and do it quickly, do you understand?"

He looked at her gravely and nodded, then began to make his way out through the crowd.

She a.s.sessed those milling near her. She waited a moment, judging each individual. She caught a man by the lapels of his Edwardian-style suit. She made a point of glaring as she drew him near. "You-tend the bar," she said.

He seemed about to protest.

She curved her lips into a smile. "Do you want to be whipped?" she demanded. "Or will you obey? You know who I am," she said. "And you will do as you're told." He bowed and almost fell to his knees. She tried not to shake her head in wonder at how easily he could be controlled.

"I beg to serve you," he said at last.

"Good. Get back there."

She left him scrambling behind the bar, ready to serve.

She stayed in character as she made her way through the crowd, her commands both sensual and demanding, separating the sheep from the wolves. The sheep had to remain below, where they could escape. The wolves...

"Attention, please," she announced. "We are all waiting for the Master, and, while we wait-" she lowered her voice to a husky growl "-I will see you all, of course, in turn. Those of you who are attending your first party will wait. Those of you who are...

experienced will visit me first in my chamber upstairs. One by one or, if you prefer, in couples. But seniority will be respected."

With a sweep of her hand, she said, "The bar is open. Please, indulge yourselves, and then come see me. We will indulge one another."

She started back through the crowd again, counting and a.s.sessing. She needed to find the worst of the wolves. The oldest first, those who would select the sweetest, ripest, victims. She whispered invitations to them while she commanded the sheep to remain below, to wait their turns. Upstairs, she wondered how long it would be before the Master made his appearance. She waited in the darkness, and when her first guest arrived, she didn't bother with the least attempt at seduction unto death. She simply opened the door and staked him.

Like Henri, he disappeared into dust, mingling with the antique remnants of time already covering the floor.

She had chosen the room next to the one she was certain the Master would use. The set-up was the same as in Transylvania: the elaborate bed; the more elaborate dressing table. She listened carefully, aware that at any minute the trap might be set.

A giggling pair came to her next. Sheep. She ordered them below to wait their turn.

After the sheep...

More wolves. She heard the boasts of those who claimed they had killed again and again. And every time they spoke salaciously of the death and destruction they had sown, it became easier for her to wield her stake.

The dust on the floor grew thick.

She had to wonder at the stupidity, the ego, that kept sending them her way, one by one. And still...there were so many left. But at least she had tipped the odds more in her own favor. The trick now, however, to stop him and get the others out.

At last she opened the door and slipped down the hall. She had guessed correctly. A sense of darkness far beyond the black of night emanated from behind the door.

He was coming soon. Very soon. She could tell.

There was always a viewing room. It had to be just on the other side of the one in which the Master had chosen to enact his seduction scene. She hurried to it, stepping in.

Yes. There was the one-way window on the seduction chamber, the camera on the elegant set, the stage. His stage. The stage on which he performed his finest act: the death of an innocent, the demonstration of his own great power. He thrived on his performance, on the fear, and on the fact that he was watched, that those watching were enthralled and ready to bow down before him.

She wasn't too late. The scene was set but there was no innocent at that dressing table, decked out in white, brus.h.i.+ng her hair, throat bared, waiting....

Had he come? Where was he?

There was a terrible scream from downstairs. She jumped. Had she miscalculated again? She bolted for the door. As she ran, she was jerked to a stop when a hand fell upon her shoulder.

A hand with fingers of steel, a vise of sheer power.

A heated whisper followed.

"Now you die."