Forbidden (4 page)

Death was a relative term.

In most cases it brought to mind someone who had gone to sleep permanently, suffered through the Big C, been struck by a car or lightning, shot or even stabbed, and eventually tidied up by some mortician and laid to rest in a casket, hair combed, hands folded, eyes closed. But no matter the cause, benign or otherwise, it didn't usually involve this much blood. Not even the bodies Roc had seen with chewed necks compared to this.

He stared down at Ferris's body. Or what was left of it. No point in trying to take a pulse. The vampire hadn't killed Ferris to feed on his blood. He'd killed for revenge or to prove he could or simply to frighten those who were still living. Whatever the reason, it had worked.

The cold fear pulsing through Roc's veins was quickly smothered by a deep, searing anger. Crouching low, Roc kept a hand firmly not only on his Glock but also the sturdy, thick stake. Where there was blood, there was usually a vampire close at hand. The hairs at the back of Roc's neck stood at attention, making him alert and aware someone…some
thing
…was watching…waiting…stalking him.

His first glance around the room searched windows and doors—escape passages and hiding places. But the room had only one window, which was closed, one door, the one Roc had come through and which was directly behind him, and one air-conditioning or heating vent near the baseboards. No cracks marred the walls. No fireplace. No cupboard large enough to hide a man. The red painted walls were brighter than the blood now staining the wooden floor.

Furniture crowded the room. Along the walls, dark walnut-stained bookshelves were polished to a high sheen. Glass shielded the rows and rows of books, which looked like soldiers on parade, the faded brown, black, red, and blue covers as worn as uniforms, but trimmed with gold lettering and flourishes. Splatters of blood dotted the glass. As always, Roc took in his surroundings in a flash, focusing on the details: a silver candlestick, an old-fashioned pipe, a quill and ink jar. An imposing cabinet stood adjacent to the oblong table in the middle of the room. He imagined college students sitting in the wooden chairs, discussing books and classes, the women arguing their point, the young men just hoping to get laid.
Did
they
know
what
their
professor
was? Did they suspect? Had he killed here before? Or was the professor only one of many hiding out in this academic sanctuary?

There were no other signs of life in the room, only the sound of Roc's breathing.
Where
could
Professor
Beaumont
have
gone?

Roc suspected he was still there. Somewhere. Maybe not in this exact room but here…in the building. Hiding. Preparing. Maybe even bringing in reinforcements for a feeding frenzy. Vampires, he'd learned, didn't run. They feared nothing. Their egos were like those of politicians. They believed they were bigger, stronger, beyond the laws of nature even. A chill stole over him. His fist tightened on the stake, and the grooves and grainy texture beneath his palm pinched his skin. Beaumont would become intimately acquainted with the wicked point.

In a rush of swirling sounds, whispered words filled his ears and head. The room began to spin about him. Roc couldn't understand what was being said, as the words were spoken just below his auditory range or in some foreign language or maybe it was simply gibberish. But he recognized the blatant warning sign that a vampire was near. Very near.

In a lightning fast move, Roc jumped away from the corpse and turned to face a tall, scarecrow-thin vampire. Beaumont stood in the doorway, blocking Roc's one escape route. He had a long, angular face and thin, wiry gray hair, which stood up on his head like tiny porcupine quills. He looked professorial in a tweed jacket and khaki slacks, like he could easily give a lecture on the history of vampirism or the best way to dismember your enemy.

“Good morning,” the professor said, his tone mild. “Welcome to our little club here on campus.”

“You know what this means.” Roc edged around the room, careful to step over a piece of Ferris and managing to keep his gaze trained on the vampire. His heart pounded against his rib cage, each beat full of anger and revulsion.

“Of course.” The professor sat in a chair and straightened the starched edge of his slacks. “Two for the price of one.”

“It means your gig here is up.”

The professor gave a hearty chuckle, and the sound reverberated around the room and built in intensity, roaring against Roc's eardrums. “Would you care to make a bet? Not that I'm much on doing so, mind you, although I have occasionally been to the racetrack. It can be rather exhilarating. But”—he gave a slight shrug, appearing rather bored with the whole conversation—“this outcome is easy to foretell and holds no suspense. At least not for me.”

“I wouldn't be so sure.”

Victor dipped his chin toward his chest and slanted a look in Roc's direction, his dark eyes intense, and erased all pretense of humor. “You think because you've managed to destroy a few careless vampires that you can follow me around then show up here where I live and breathe and work, and destroy me as easily.” He indicated the floor where most of Ferris lay. “Look around, my friend.” He raised his head in a defiant, haughty manner. “You have been misled. If you had any intelligence, you'd remove yourself from my presence before you meet the same fate.” He hooked his hands around one knee and leaned back in a casual pose, but the detestation in his half-lidded black eyes grew in intensity. “But I suppose the time for that has now passed.”

Despite the way those eyes made him feel—as if he was tumbling down a dark hole—Roc took another step toward the vampire, keeping his feet firmly planted. “Yeah, I'd say so.”

“Well, then, let me explain what will happen, shall I?” Slowly, Beaumont stood and walked along the opposite side of the table from Roc. He trailed a finger along the high backs of the chairs, following the federalist curve and slant of the polished wood. “I can make it quick, as I did for your friend there, although I would imagine it didn't seem too quick by the way he was screaming.” A wicked smile spread his pale lips and gave a glimpse of shiny teeth. “So I suppose it's all in one's perspective. But rest assured, it will end for you. Even when you think you can't take the pain anymore, take comfort in the fact that it will eventually stop.” He halted at the end of the table and faced Roc fully. “And you will die. So go ahead and say your little prayers or confessions or whatever it is you feel you need to do to ready yourself for the hereafter.”

Roc gritted his teeth, forced himself to restrain the anger surging through him. “I'd rather die than become one of you.”

Again, the professor laughed and shook his head. “Well, of course, you'd say that. But don't worry. I would never choose someone like you to change. You would not handle the power well. And believe me when I tell you this. There is power to have. So those who are changed must be chosen carefully.”

Roc's gaze shifted above to the ceiling, to the shelves with stacks of books, to the table in the middle of the room with a deep mahogany finish. “You have some criteria for deciding that?”

“I would tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” Beaumont laughed, this time louder and longer, obviously amused with his pathetic joke. “Oh, yes, I almost forgot…that's my plan.” The twinkle vanished from his dark eyes, and they turned a flat black, a sliver of white parenthesizing the blackness. “We never disclose our secrets, even to those about to die.”

“In case they get the upper hand?”

“As the college kids like to say, dream on.”

“And did you change Akiva?”

Beaumont tilted his head sideways and blinked slowly. “Is that why you are here? You're looking for Akiva?”

“It's one reason.”

“So you're multi-tasking.” Beaumont laughed. “Well, you're way off track.”

“We're about to find out.” Roc jerked the Glock upward, aiming and pulling the trigger all in one motion. In a fraction of a second, Beaumont vanished.

Laughter surrounded Roc, embraced and confused him. He took a step back, tripped on something, then another step, looking behind and around and finally up. The curved edge of a wing stretched out along one outstretched limb of the chandelier. It wasn't a fancy light fixture with crystals dangling or bulbs flickering like a flame. The solid black iron looked sturdy, as if forged by the resolute ideals during the Revolution. Eight arms branched outward off the main stem, arcing downward and ending with a cap of stained glass.

He didn't wait for the laughter to die down or for the wing to move again. He aimed and fired six bullets right into the light fixture. Roc immediately covered his eyes with his forearm, as a wild array of pops and sparks ignited above him. Glass rained down, striking the table and floor and shooting outward. Tiny shards of glass pierced Roc's skin. Then the wing transformed into an arm, and the rest of the body took shape as it fell from above, pulling the chandelier out of the ceiling and crashing onto the table. One leg split, tilted the tabletop, which slanted downward, pouring glass and iron to the floor.

Roc raced toward the body, which had three wounds: one each in the neck, shoulder, and leg. Wielding the stake, Roc opened a new one in the middle of the chest, driving the tip into the now scarred table. Before the professor could do anything other than flinch and convulse, Roc gripped Beaumont's ankle and looped a leather strap around it and the table leg. By the time Roc rounded the table's end, the vampire was sitting up and struggling with the stake centered in his chest. But Roc didn't pause. He hooked another strap, which he'd pulled from his pocket, around Beaumont's neck, jerked him back, looped the strap's free end around another of the table's legs, and knotted it tight.

Just as Roberto had taught him, the bound vampire was now powerless. So began the waiting game. Waiting for the vampire to bleed out. At first, Beaumont thrashed about on the table, snarling and growling, but the wound in his throat made a gurgling sound as air bubbled up into the hole the bullet had made.

“Saying your prayers?” Roc asked.

With the knife Roc now always carried strapped to his calf, he slit the arteries as Roberto had shown him, which would speed the process of dying. As the blood drained, so did the life of the vampire. His movements slowed until he lay completely still. Only then did Roc lean back against the wall, sweat pouring from him, as he stared at the demolished room, too exhausted to consider what to do.

“
Rachel did not come home yesterday from the Troyers'.”

Dumbfounded, Hannah Schmidt Fisher stared at her grandfather in the weak morning light. With his beard long and the lines in his face deep, Ephraim Hershberger stood tall and straight beside his daughter, Hannah's mamm, who looked as if she was clinging to the porch railing for support.

Each morning since she had married Levi last December, Hannah and Levi left the little cottage on the Huffstetlers' farm and drove their gray-topped buggy to her parent's farm, where Levi worked with her father and Hannah helped her mother. Arriving this morning to the news that her pregnant sister was missing sent a chill down her spine. “B-but where could Rachel be? Did you talk with Mae and Ernest?”

“Your dat did last evening.” Mamm looked pale, as well, as if she hadn't slept. “It is mighty strange for Rachel to behave so. Your dat…Daniel is beside himself. He's thinking he should drive to town and check at the hospital in case she had more problems with the baby. But I can't imagine her not telling nobody,
ja
? Just going off for help that way. Without her mamm knowing.”

Ephraim patted his daughter's arm. “The good Lord is watching over her.”

Hannah trembled all over, shaken by the news, frightened by what it could mean. “Does Levi know?”

“I expect your dat is telling him now,” her grandfather said, his voice somber and calm, the direct opposite of how Hannah now felt.

She glanced over her shoulder at the path she had taken from the barn. The fields beyond were green, the corn stalks rippling in the breeze, and her gaze slid toward the springhouse. It held so many memories from the past year, when she had housed Akiva until she'd realized his deception. The memory burrowed deep inside her now and made her heart pulse with uncertainty.

Could Akiva have returned? Could he have taken Rachel? Or…could he have done something similar to what he'd done to Josef? Those eyes had looked on her with vile hatred and burned in her memory. Her heart stopped as she imagined her sister…her dear sister. She'd hoped and prayed Akiva had gone away for good, but the truth was she'd always worried he'd return.
But
if
so, why now? Why Rachel?

It didn't make any sense, and so she pushed the disconcerting thoughts aside. Most likely Rachel was having some difficulty with her pregnancy. She'd probably taken the buggy to town to see the doctor, who those in her district often sought when something besides home remedies were needed. Because of the problems Rachel had experienced early on the night her husband had died, she probably hadn't taken any chances. She wouldn't have wanted to worry Mamm either. But maybe the doctor had seen fit to place Rachel in the hospital. Maybe there hadn't been time to drive all the way out to the farm and tell the family.

Hannah took a deep breath and walked up the porch steps, clinging to the railing to steady herself, and offered her mother a comforting hug. Levi would know what to do. His calm demeanor would soothe all of them. “It will be all right, I reckon, Mamm. We should pray Rachel is feeling better and not experiencing…”

But her voice trailed off at the
thunk
of the barn door. Levi rushed through the doorway, Toby trotting alongside him, barking and leaping. Levi pointed toward the barn and ordered the yellow lab back inside, his tone stern. Then his gaze sought hers, and an electrical spark shot through Hannah. She often experienced a similar feeling at her husband's glance, but this time it was different. Her breath caught in her chest. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Levi, his movements strong and sure, his head bent with determination, rushed through the chore of hitching the horse, and Pete seemed to sense the urgency and stamped his hoof. Then Levi climbed onto the bench and grabbed the reins, turning the buggy around and driving straight toward the house.

He pulled back on the reins as he approached the porch. Morning sunlight glinted on his burnished blond hair, but his blue eyes pierced her. She'd seen the many different shades of his eyes, the pale tenderness when he held her, the darkening of passion as he leaned in to kiss her, the light of humor as his mouth curved with a smile. Now, the flat planes of his cheeks compressed, and his lips thinned with tension. “I'm heading over to the Troyers'. Will you join me, Hannah?”

She glanced at her mother, not wanting her to be alone. But then, her youngest sister, Katie, came through the back door and stood on the other side of Mamm. Answering her husband, Hannah said, “Of course, Levi.” She gave her mother another hug then motioned for Katie to stay near their mother's side. “I'll be back soon, Mamm. Levi will know what to do.”

***

Levi walked toward her, Eli Troyer at his side. Levi's manly shape only emphasized Eli's teenage gawkiness. The boy's long, gangly legs and arms had outgrown his pants and coat by a couple of inches. He had a thatch of blond hair cut in the traditional bowl style, but his hair was a shade or two darker than Levi's. He was almost as tall, but his shoulders weren't yet as broad. In the Amish way, Eli, at age fourteen, had finished the last year of his schooling and would be helping out on the farm from now on or finding his own trade for when he married and had a family of his own. Of course, the teen's face was smooth where Levi already had a beard, indicating he was married, which caused her heart to swell.

The last six months had been filled with a peace and contentment Hannah had never known. Levi's heart was deep and full of a selfless love. The joy she had felt in the safety and comfort of his arms at night faded when she had spent time with Rachel. For her sister had been in mourning for her husband, and Josef's death was most probably Hannah's fault. If she hadn't invited Akiva into her mind and heart and welcomed him into her home, then none of those events would have happened. Guilt, at first a heavy stone in her heart, had accumulated into a wall between her and Rachel. But she couldn't confess what she knew and had done to Rachel. How could she tell her sister how horribly Josef had died? It would have been too painful and disturbing and might have risked the life of the child Rachel carried.
But
now, was Rachel's disappearance another stone of guilt?

The seriousness of the situation kept her feet firmly planted in the summer grass as she waited impatiently for her husband and Eli to approach the buggy. She stood beside Pete as the horse dipped his head and nibbled the grass. She couldn't read Levi's or Eli's expressions shaded beneath the flat bills of their straw hats.

When they had arrived, Levi had first spoken to Ernest Troyer, Eli's older brother, the one now considered the head of the family and farm. He had not been here when Rachel was working in the strawberry field yesterday morning, but his wife, Mae, had been. She last saw Rachel when she'd taken their toddler inside for a nap, leaving Rachel alone. When Mae returned a couple of hours later, Rachel had been gone. Mae had assumed she'd gone home as usual.

It was one of the other Troyer brothers, Ezekiel, who had suggested the youngest, Eli, might have seen something. He was the only one left on the farm that morning. So, Levi had walked out to the field where Eli was plowing, bringing him back to Hannah now. But did the teenager know anything?

“Eli was in the barn yesterday,” Levi said as they reached her.

She pinched her hands together in an effort to quiet her galloping heart and looked at the younger man's face. “Did you see Rachel then?”

Eli shook his head, and his gaze shifted sideways, avoiding hers.

“Are you sure, Eli? You didn't see Rachel?”

“I told you.” He gave a nod to Levi and left them alone.

Hannah stared at her husband. Her throat tightened on a sob.
What
would
they
do
now? Where would they go? How could they find help?

Levi stepped toward the buggy and held out a hand for Hannah.

“Levi, she couldn't just disappear.”

“Maybe she is at the hospital.”

“You know as well as I do that is not the case.” She covered her heart with a hand. “I can feel it. I know.”

He didn't deny or refute it. His lips flattened, pinching the corners of his mouth in a grim line. Glancing back at Eli's retreating back, he shook his head.

“You think he's not telling the truth?”

“I didn't say that.”

But he didn't have to. She sensed it too. “But what if he knows something? What if he saw something?”

“I cannot make him talk. And I don't know, maybe he doesn't know anything.”

Her throat convulsed, desperation rising up inside of her. “What are we going to do? We have to help Rachel. What if—?”

Levi wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her close to his side. “There's only one thing for us to do.”