HORROR THRILLERS-A Box Set of Horror Novels (65 page)

"You'll do it,
just as I said," Upton shouted again, "and then you're out
of this. But right now I advise you to go underground. Get away from
everyone you know and tell no one where you are. Do you hear me? No
one."

The smell of the
breakfast followed Alan as he crossed the living room and entered the
elevator for the lobby. He hadn't even had breakfast yet, and he was
already dealing with a maniac. A man shouldn't have to do that.

But on the way down
in the padded silence of the elevator, he reconsidered Upton's
response and his advice. He reconsidered what he'd been telling Upton
about there being real vampires in the world and how he'd seen one.

It made a little
sense. Not a lot, but a little. He might have stumbled on vampires or
he'd run into one of the worst killers in the state of Texas. Upton's
response sounded like paranoid ranting. But what if the vampire could
find him? If there was a vampire. Or what if it could find Bette? He
must return immediately to Dallas and take Bette with him. She
wouldn't want to go anywhere or leave her house, but he'd make her.
Even if there was a shred of danger, he had to do that.

Paranoid or not,
they might be dealing with the supernatural. Who knew how the
supernatural worked? Who knew what the UFO was that sent a circle of
bright light streaming down over a farm? Who knew what left behind
sixteen-inch footprints?

But, more
importantly, what did any of them know about the existence and
motives of vampires?

~*~

Mentor hovered high
over an area just outside the city limits of Houston, Texas. He was
near the presence he knew to be Alan Star, and was just zeroing in on
his location when he heard an urgent mental call. It was as if a
siren went off in his subconscious, wailing . . . screaming for his
attention. "Mentor! I know your name. Come to me now."

He paused in his
shadowy flight, filtering the voice from all the others that clamored
in a cacophony of calls for aid. He found it belonged to a woman. A
human woman. Now what is this about? he wondered. Not once in a
century had he had communications from humans, psychics who had
somehow tuned into the channel of his subconscious. It always
surprised and unsettled him.

He turned toward
the direction where the voice emanated. North of his location. He
searched farther and found it came from Dallas. Who . . . ?

She called him
again, as if speaking directly into his mind, clearly enunciating
every syllable. "Mentor. Come back. Leave Alan alone. We have
many things to discuss first."

Bette Kinyo. She
reached him over a distance of hundreds of miles. She was indeed an
enigma. A gifted enigma.

He gave Alan Star
one last moment of his attention, waffled between going directly to
him to wipe his mind of all memories involving Ross, but then he
sighed inside and turned back North. Bette called for him. This meant
she remembered him. Not only that, but she had learned his name.

It took him mere
minutes to respond and move his intelligence and the energy of his
being to Bette Kinyo's home. He went through the wall into the
kitchen where he sensed she would be found. As before, when he'd
first ever appeared to her, she had her back to him and her hands
deep into a sink of bubbles.

"You called
for me?"

She turned
purposefully, taking a dish towel to dry her hands. Her eyes were
dark and heavy with meaning as she rested her gaze on him. He stood
before her in his old man body, the cold old body that sometimes he
could cause to contort enough to frighten the life from a mortal. He
did that now, scowling fiercely, showing the row of upper teeth and
sharp incisors.

~*~

Bette had come
awake on the sofa after her session with Mentor. Confused, she
staggered up the stairs to the small altar in her bedroom. Falling to
her knees before the statue of Buddha, she bowed her head and began
to weep. She knew she had been violated in some way, but did not know
how or to what extent. She prayed to the god she adored to save her
sanity and restore her spirit.

For many long
minutes confusion reigned. Her mind skipped about like a child on
holiday. She continued to pray. She lit incense and breathed deeply,
letting the scent of sandalwood help concentrate her mental
processes.

I am strong, she
told herself. I am a child of heaven. I will recall myself and who
and what I am. I will overcome this violation and set my house in
order.

After a time her
mind did settle, and she was sure the master vampire had come to her
home and done something with her memory. There were holes and gaps,
leaving her with black images, like overdeveloped photographs. The
more she tried to plumb the missing part of her mind, the more
panicky she felt until she had a breakthrough and finally, finally,
she saw in her mind's eye what she was not supposed to ever recall.

Vampire!

The old man. He had
told her he must do it to save her life. She cursed him for the lie.
For if she died, she would die knowing all, being queen of her own
spirit and soul. She would not live with holes in her mind, vast
black holes hiding secrets.

She began to pray
to know the master vampire's name. If she could find his name, she
could call to him and make him hear her. No one knew Bette had these
abilities and sometimes she doubted them herself, but in any dire
need she knew she could call upon an innate strength and belief that
the world was knowable. In all its permutations. In all its vast
multitude of dimensions. She had only to open herself and call out
for the world to respond with the answers she needed.

When the vampire
had first showed himself to her in the kitchen, she had been aware in
a psychic way that he was not human and the visitation was
supernatural. Now she went in search of the supernatural, embracing
the part of her soul that understood the shadow world beneath the
real world.

She first found the
vampire, moving more rapidly than the wind to the south. Two hundred
miles in the distance. She found him and opened her soul and sent out
the distress signal that bore his name. Mentor. She had to make him
understand he was not the only one who could enter and ransack
another's private memory banks. She had found his name within his own
being. It was how he described himself. How he had been known, she
finally understood, for hundreds of years—or longer. Mentor.

While she waited
for him to appear, she rose from her knees, giving thanks to Buddha
for his grace, and went down the stairs slowly to her kitchen. She
had not washed the dishes. They lay in jumbled disarray on the
countertop—cups, saucers, plates, silverware. She ran a sinkful
of hot water until steam came up to meet her nostrils. She plunged
her hands in, scrubbing hard at the dishes while focusing on the real
world of hot water, soap suds, the solid feel of glassware.

When she felt the
old vampire at her back, she turned to face him, unafraid. If he
killed her, then so be it. She'd made up her mind she must try to
stop the violation he intended to do to the man she loved.

He said, "You
called for me. I would like to know how you accomplished such a
feat."

She said, "You
are not the only creature with powers. I called because you must not
do to Alan what you tried to do to me. It's evil. And I don't sense
that you are as evil as you would like to appear."

"Am I not?"
He waited and when she did not reply, he said, "How is it you
can reach me when you're not like me? Where does your power come
from?"

"Not a
vampire, you mean? My power comes from the universe. I depend on my
god."

"Would you
call yourself an angel?"

She almost laughed.
The smile played around her lips as she suppressed the laughter. "No,
I'm no angel, Mentor. I'm not supernatural. I'm simply a devoted
woman with my own small skills. I have found the pockets of memories
you tried to eradicate. I remember the story Alan told me of the
vampire who murdered two women. And I remember the problem with the
blood bank—that surely has something to do with you. It's why
you came in the first place."

"I don't know
how you reversed my work," he said, "but this puts you into
grave danger. I did what I did only to save you from a horrible
fate."

"You must not
interfere in my life," she said stubbornly.

"Then I'll
have to watch your life taken. I wanted to avoid that."

She turned her head
to the side, scrutinizing him. "Why do you want to save me? What
am I to you?"

His lips lowered
over the teeth, and now he did not look so much fierce as defeated.
"Never mind my motives. What do you think you can accomplish by
overriding my work and by insisting I come to you? Aren't you afraid
at all?"

"I'm not
afraid," she said honestly. "I believe we have some kind of
connection, you and I. Now we must have an understanding. I've called
you here to make a promise. I'll stand by that promise, knowing I
forfeit my life if I break it."

"Yes?"

"I won't
pursue the discrepancy with the Strand Catel Blood Bank. I won't
speak of the murders Alan witnessed. I won't bother you the rest of
my life. But you must promise never to come to me again to tamper
with my mind. You must leave me alone, forever."

"That's an
admirable trio of promises, Bette, but what about Alan Star? He's not
like you, is he? Not as . . . gifted."

"No, he's not.
But I'll prevent him from pursuing you and your friends. He loves
me."

The old man glanced
aside as if unable to meet her eyes. "I know," he said
softly.

"Then is it a
deal? I know that if you want to, you can take my whole mind, all of
it, and turn it in such a way I'll never be myself again. I know you
can kill me as easily as snapping the neck of a little wounded bird.
I know your power, Mentor. But if you'll go away and stay away, we
will—Alan and I—stay out of your business."

He seemed to think
it over. His eyes still would not meet hers. He looked everywhere in
the little kitchen except into her face. She felt an overpowering
urge to step forward and take him into her arms, to hug him close to
assure him all would be all right. It was not the proper urge for one
she thought of as an abomination, an enemy, but there it was anyway.
The feeling confused her so much she shook her head a little and
glanced down at her hands as if seeing them for the very first time.
The small, delicate lingers, the little square white nails. She
wanted to put those hands on the old man's face and stroke his cheeks
in a loving way.

She suddenly turned
her back on him in order not to act on the strange urges rushing
through her body. She knew he was not causing her to feel this way.
It did not come from outside herself, but from inside, in the core of
her, and it left her baffled, and a bit afraid.

"You must keep
your promises," he said.

She nodded her
head, not trusting her voice.

"If you break
your vows, the next one who comes to you will not be me, Bette. It
will be one who will suck your very soul from your body and leave you
separated from your god. Do you understand me?"

Again she nodded,
holding fast to the sink edge with both white-knuckled hands.

"Speak it,"
he commanded.

"Yes! I
understand you. Yes!"

In just seconds she
sensed he was gone. She turned, sighing in resignation at the pact
she'd made. She clamped her trembling hands together. For now she had
saved both herself and Alan.

All she had to do
was to convince him he must forget what he'd seen. She hoped he had
not yet told Charles Upton. If he had, then her promise was already
broken and they were all doomed.

21

Dell walked
alongside Ryan through the mall, hoping he would take her hand.
Wishful thinking, she told herself, but it would be nice if he did.

They stopped at a
booth in the center aisle of the mall and looked at gold jewelry.
Ryan picked up a gold heart with scrolled edges, but put it down
again quickly. "That's pretty," she said, smiling.

He looked at her.
"Yeah, it's nice."

They moved on,
mingling with crowds, passing other young couples and groups of kids
from their school. "You want something to eat before the movie
starts?" he asked.