Blood Rock (41 page)

Come to think of it, there was no guarantee Arcturus would receive me. Zinaga had tried to poison the well. What I really needed was something to get in his good graces. And for the man who eschews material goods … the best currency I could think of was a favor.

So I needed to get into Blood Rock … and to get on Arcturus’ good side.

There might be a way to do both at the same time. Two birds, one stone.

I thumbed backwards through my text messaging log. January, December, November—and then I found it. I swallowed. I
was
going to do this. My thumb hovered over the call button; but I wasn’t that brave. Instead, I
texted
… the vampire Transomnia:
<>

There was no response. I wasn’t certain I’d get one. It had been months since he’d texted me after kidnapping Cinnamon, and he could have ditched that phone. Even then, he was an old-school vampire, probably asleep. I stared off into the distance, thinking.

Then the phone rang, and I nearly dropped it. I answered immediately. “Transomnia?”

“I don’t want to know why you’d think he’d be calling you,” Philip said coldly.

“Philip!” I said, brightening. After all the static he, McGough and Rand had given me, I hadn’t even thought of actually
calling
him. “Look, I didn’t know who else to turn to. I—”

“Dakota,” he said firmly. “I understand why you ran. I might even have done the same thing. But I can’t help you, except to tell you—
turn off your phone
. We can track you by it.”

I hung on the phone, stunned. “Philip, you know I didn’t do it.”

“I know, and I know you’re probably working the problem right now, but you’re wanted for murder and arson. So hang up, and
turn off
your personal tracking and recording device,” Philip said. “You spent a
hell
of a long time on the phone last night—I’m surprised they didn’t pick you up already. If I could find you, it’s only a matter of time before someone else will.”

“But Philip—”

“Between Stockbridge and McDonough,” Philip said. “Under a bridge, it looks like.”

“Damnit!” I said, killing the call, then powering off the phone.
Damnit, damnit, damnit!
I
knew
cell phones were insecure, and had gone and been a fucking
amateur
anyway. Quickly I gathered my things and pushed the Vespa out into the street, started her up, and hit the road.

I puttered up State Road 20 until I got close to Conyers, then pulled off and got some food, again at a Waffle House, tucked just off the highway. I got directions to the nearest library from the waitress, and headed down there to try to get some Internet.

The library was larger than I’d expected, a two-story affair with large triangular roofs and a little gazebo-like structure near the entrance. I got an out-of-state visitor’s pass so I didn’t have to use my library card, fired up a computer, and started to figure out how to find Transomnia.

That’s right. That was the first stage of my brilliant plan: go straight up to the door of the bad guys and knock. The green-haired vampire, Transomnia’s apparent second in command—what was her name, Nyissa?—had snarked that I didn’t know where I was, but I hadn’t lied: there were only so many roads in Blood Rock.

And as for what house on what road? They’d held me in a big room, but not a warehouse: more like a furnished basement. That meant a multi-level house, possibly new, which in turn ruled out most of Blood Rock, which was primarily single-storied and falling apart.

They’d been threatened by my presence, which mean they were near Old Town. They
also
had the Sanctuary Stone, which means they had to be close to the Rock itself—if not right on top of it, nearby, on a ley line intersecting the Rock.

That left a lot to look for, but I had satellite and aerial imagery from MapQuest, Yahoo, Microsoft and even Google to help me out. So, feeling like a detective from space, I zoomed in on Blood Rock and started looking for Transomnia.

My real goal was ultimately Arcturus, but MapQuest showed there was no “back door” to Arcturus’ pad: just steep hills and deep creeks. I was no woodsman, nor did I want to get shot cutting through backwoods Georgia, much less find myself stumbling around in a ravine while vampires tracked me down.

At the front door, I was pretty sure that I’d be spotted by Steyn or his peons. In the short time I’d been in town last, I’d seen Steyn twice. And now, Steyn could do more than turn a blind eye to the vamps or run me out of town: he could turn me over to the APD.

So I had to approach the vampires directly, hands up. I looked for what felt like hours, and was about to give up when, absently closing a window I was done with, I saw it.

Inadvertently I’d created two windows with two different views of the same area, side by side. It was the top of Blood Rock hill proper, zoomed in on the new complex of houses that I’d seen on the map. The complex was half built in one set of pictures dating from a year ago, nearly complete in the other, six months later—with something that looked like a mansion or clubhouse off a narrow access road, not visible on any street map, but clear as day from the air, especially in the shots taken during construction.

I tilted my head, looking at the complex of roofs, barely visible in the trees. It felt right: new, multistoried, on the Rock itself. And then I pulled up the map of ley lines: the building was smack dab at the crossing of three of them, with the most powerful line going through the Rock itself.

“Gotcha,” I murmured.

I wrote down the address (and two or three other likely candidates) and closed up shop, much to the relief of a young college student waiting on the machine. I found a nearby Chic-Fil-A, gratefully chowed down, then hopped back on the Vespa and headed to Blood Rock.

It was nearly dark by the time I found my way through the winding roads to Blood Rock. Once again I felt a tingle as I passed the boundary … and then, a slowly growing headache, just like when Nyissa had banished me. I’d looked into the magic: it wasn’t enough to hurt me, but, like Nyissa had said, if the vamps still had the Sanctuary Stone, they’d know I was here.

But I didn’t let that stop me. I just drove to the new subdivision atop the Rock, where I found my path barred by a simple, unmarked gate with an equally simple buzzer and camera. I stopped a few feet short, nerving myself to drive up and press that buzzer.

Before I did, a car passed me on its way to the gate. A hand reached out and pressed the button. Moments later, the gate slowly slid back. I debated tailgating. Transomnia’s guards might take that as a threat, but the point of driving all the way to their door was to force an audience. On the other hand, I might have guessed wrong and could be tailgating a man into his home.

And then the man in the car looked back at me: not a vampire, not a thug, just a pleasant good-old-boy Georgia businessman in a black suit. He didn’t have the hard look people get when strange women on motorcycles are sitting outside their driveway waiting for them to come home. In fact, he actually smiled, staring at me, curious, then started to turn forward.

“Hey, bud,” I called. “I’m a bit lost, and I’m wondering if I’m at the right place.”

“All right, let’s see if we can straighten you out,” the man said, in such a classic Georgia accent I imagined ‘Bud’ was probably his real name. “Looking for Stone Rose Sanctuary?”

My eyes widened. Good Lord, the vampires were brazen: the seals on the Sanctuary Stone
were
roses. They certainly weren’t trying to hide. “That … sounds like it.”

“Applying for a job?” Bud said, looking me up and down. “Or are you a client?”

My mouth opened. I had no way to translate what he was saying into something I understood. Finally I managed, “Looking up a friend who works here. And you?”

“Oh! I’m not, you know, staying at the, ah, inn,” Bud said. His face reddened a bit, then split into a wide grin. “Just here for the food. Great restaurant. Follow me in.”

He rolled the car forward, and I started the Vespa up and followed.

As I rode through, the gate squealed shut behind me. So this was it: I was heading through creaking iron gates towards a mysterious chalet nestled deep in the woods. My Vespa would be taken away by mysterious valets just as the sun would set, trapping me to dine under candlelight under the watchful eyes of predatory vampires, served by black-garbed waiters trained not to notice when their masters started noshing on you instead.

Or not to notice when Transomnia had me dragged out and shot.

Either way, I was committed. I was going to ask for help from my worst enemy.

“My name is Dakota Frost, but I doubt I’m on the guest list,” I told the maître d’, tucking my gloves into my helmet. “I’m just here to see Lord Transomnia.”

The Stone Rose Sanctuary was plantation-style rather than Victorian, new rather than old; but everything else was as I expected. A valet did indeed whisk my Vespa and Bud’s Volvo away, a doorman opened a door onto a plush red foyer, where a black-garbed maître d’ ushered Bud off to join his party before returning his attention to me. He stared at me, not really seeming to comprehend. Apparently I wasn’t dressed fancy enough to overcome the language barrier.

“Lord … Transomnia?” the thin, hawkish man asked. His face was lined, and he had a long shag of graying hair, almost a mullet; but his eyebrows were dark and his eyes sharp, making him look far younger. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that name.”

“Really?” I said, hopes falling. But this place had been here for at least six months, back when Transomnia had been trying to hide from Valentine by playing junior wharf rat at the Oakdale Clan. At least one of his people had been here. “What about the Lady Nyissa?”

At
her
name, the maître d’ rankled.
Jackpot.
“The proprietor of the Sanctuary,” he said crisply, “prefers her privacy. The Stone Rose Café has a policy not to mention her,
or
her associates, by name. If you are a client of the club, however—”

“As I said, I’m not a diner or a client,” I said, glancing around the foyer. “I’m here on personal business with one of the associates of the proprietor of the Sanctuary.”

The front door opened, and a charming older couple walked in, a cheerful, vaguely Asian man and an older woman with hair strikingly dyed half black, half blond. She smiled at me, then murmured to her companion, and a gold nose ring sparkled as she turned her head. Interesting.

“
Please,
” the maître d’ said quietly. “Are you a friend of the proprietor?”

“No, I’m her worst enemy,” I said, and the headache I’d been nursing suddenly got a little worse—probably the effect of the Sanctuary Stone. Interesting. “Well, technically, the worst enemy of her master, the Lord, uh, ‘T’. I called ahead. They should be expecting me.”

The maître d’ stared at me, then the new couple. He raised his hand to them for a moment’s grace, then leaned forward to me. “Ma’am,” he whispered, “the proprietor and her associates are not … disposed … at this time—”

“I understand they may not be up yet,” I said, smiling. Messing with this guy was turning out to be quite fun. “I can wait in the throne room like last time.”

“Theme rooms are reserved for
clients
,” the maître d’ said, his confusion and reluctance shifting into stern suspicion. “If you would like to reserve one on an ad hoc basis—”

“Excuse me,” said a dark-suited man, stepping out of a side room to catch the maître d’ by the elbow. “The Lady informs me we have another, um, trespassing situation, like we did a couple of weeks back, so the guards will need to—”

“Hi,” I said, waving my fingers at him cheerfully.

The dark-suited man looked up at me briefly and did a double-take. “Holy sh—” he said, hand going to his breast pocket, then freezing there as he caught sight of the couple behind me. His eyes flickered between me and the couple. He made a strangled noise.

“Dakota Frost,” I said, even more cheerfully. “We met in the van last week?”

“What—yeah,” he said, relaxing slightly, hand still inside his jacket. “Uh … yeah.”

“I can wait in the throne room until you guys figure out how to fit me into your schedule.”

“Uh … yeah,” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off my tattoos. “Let’s do that.”

“Should I put up my hands?” I asked.

His eyes flickered again to the couple. “No, but … put the gloves and helmet back on.”

“Uh, sure,” I said. “I guess I am more dangerous naked.”

I wished I had a picture of the maître d’s mortified look as the older couple laughed. I smiled at them, popped my gloves back on, then the helmet.

“I hope you guys enjoy your meal this evening,” I said.

“Oh, we’re not here for dinner,” the woman said, smiling. “We’re here for the club.”

And with that last word, it hit me.
That
was how vampires made their money: prostitution. Vampires were dark, edgy and attractive, and their bite was damn near orgasmic. That vampires traded in sex didn’t surprise me, but there was more to it than that: there was the club, the clients,—and despite their trash talk, Transomnia’s band of vamps had done little more than scare me. After the initial assault, they hadn’t done me physical harm.