The Vampire Shrink (46 page)

I even clipped off the price tags.

An hour later my makeup was done and the curls of my hair were combed into a long, shining thickness. I was perfumed, high heeled, and poured into a slinky floor-length, cleavage-exposing black dress.

The ever-present, recently life-saving necklace was nestled in the valley.

Not too shabby.

After checking out the pale hue of my natural skin tone against the black of the dress, I'd decided against putting on even whiter makeup. Sometimes having a ghostly complexion came in handy.

Right on time the doorbell sounded, and I scoped out the peephole.

I turned on the porch light and felt a ripple of dread fan through my body.

What now?

Standing on my porch was Dracula strolling the streets of London, à la Gary Oldman: top hat, long curls, blue-lensed glasses, and a silver-knobbed walking stick.

But there was no mistaking that charming smile.

“Alan!” I opened the door. “You look amazing!”

He strutted into the entryway, preened, and bowed. “This time I was prepared for the nightmare energy out there, so I used my vast intellect and a little self-hypnosis to counter its effects.”

“Really? That's good to know. I'll have to teach the mailman to put himself into a trance so I can get my mail delivered. Enter, Count Dracula.” I swept my arm through the air in invitation, then closed the door.

Adopting a thick Transylvanian accent, he said, “Mina, I mean, Kismet, I vant to drink your blood. But I could be persuaded to do something else instead.”

He stepped around behind me, lifted my hair away from my neck, and ran his teeth over my skin. He sported the same kind of tiny fake fangs Midnight had worn.

The touch sent goose bumps across my skin, and I turned to face him. “We'll never get out of here if you keep on doing that.”

He slid his fingertips down my arms, still speaking in the thick accent. “It vould be my pleasure to rip off this incredibly sexy dress and ravage you right here on the floor. Do you prefer to be on the bottom or the top?”

“Oh, Count, you take my breath away, but I fear we'll be late for the vampire-staking if we dawdle.” He lifted my hand and kissed the palm. “Then I shall come to visit you in the night.”

We both laughed.

“Aren't they adorable, Raleigh?”

Alan and I both jerked our heads toward the voice.

Once again, my living room hosted unexpected visitors. Bryce stood in the center of the room, his long dark hair resplendent against a bloodred, floor-length velvet coat. White ruffles peeked out of the lapels and sleeves. Black leather pants hugged his well-proportioned lower body.

It had to be some kind of cosmic injustice that such an evil being was so devilishly handsome. He could've been a candidate for Vampire Pinup of the Year if it hadn't been for the struggling human he held under his arm in an effortless headlock.

I recognized Ronald's auburn hair immediately; he was being held in a chokehold so tight that only grunts emanated from the young man's lips.

My stomach contracted, and I gasped. Could this day get any worse?

As he'd done before, Raleigh laughed maniacally while parading, Munchkin-like, around the room. Instead of the sleeveless muscle shirt he'd worn last time, in honor of the ball he was decked out in a miniature version of traditional movie vampire garb: slicked-back burgundy hair, white shirt, and long, sweeping cape with a raised collar. He'd painted black circles around his icy blue-white eyes.

Creepy.

Alan dropped his walking stick, pulled a gun from somewhere under his jacket, and pointed it at Bryce.

“That's enough. Release him. Now.”

“Well, well. Things just keep on getting better. I do love a good drama.” Bryce ignored the gun and, moving faster than we could see, planted himself directly in front of Alan, surprising him. He gazed into Alan's eyes, which fluttered, then closed completely, his chin nodding against his chest.

Alan's arm fell to his side. The gun slipped from his hand onto the floor with a thump.

“What a disappointment.” Bryce kicked the gun aside. “Not a worthy adversary after all. Just another squawking blood sack.” The handsome demon turned and moved toward me, dragging Ronald along like a crashtest dummy.

He gave his favorite evil smile. “But I must admit, I'm surprised to find Devereux's paramour indulging herself with another man. I wonder if he knows? What a shame I'm so bad at keeping secrets.” He smiled wider. “It will give me great pleasure to be the one to tell him the pathetic human woman he rejected me for is being unfaithful.”

“Really?” My mouth dropped open. “All the fighting, violence, and drama are because you're
jealous
? You want to take over the coven and hurt Devereux because he doesn't share your feelings? Seriously? Are you twelve?”

I immediately regretted my outburst.
Not a very savvy therapeutic intervention, Kismet. Never agitate the predator.

His face contorted with rage. He stepped forward and leaned toward me, the epitome of pure malevolence. “Shut the fuck up, human. You know nothing about me. Devereux and I were together centuries before you were born. It was only ever a matter of time until he came to his senses. After I dispose of you, everything will be as it should be.” He straightened and gave what he probably considered to be a charming smile. “I see you're all ready for the festivities. Excellent. We have a special room reserved just for you.” He jostled Ronald. “I'm afraid your little friend here had quite a hissy fit when I sucked most of the blood out of his girlfriend Midnight's body. He insisted on coming along to tell you all about it. Unfortunately, he seems to be a little tongue-tied at the moment.” He laughed robustly, tightening his grip on Ronald's neck.

Ronald gasped for air. He wasn't going to make it if Bryce didn't release him soon.

I didn't know what to do, so I did something stupid. I took a step toward Bryce, got in his face, and screamed, “Let him go, you bloodsucking coward! Showing off is for idiots and children. We'll see how big and bad you are after Devereux gets through with you!”

Bryce flinched; he didn't like that. His handsome features contorted into a ghastly mask; his eyes narrowed and grew darker. He growled, showing razor-point fangs.

I figured mentioning Devereux's name would push his buttons, but I didn't think it through beyond hoping he'd turn his rage on me and drop Ronald.

So much for that.

Bryce simply appeared at my side, circled my waist with his free arm, and yanked me against his body. He jerked his chin in unconscious Alan's direction and said to Raleigh, “Bring Dracula.”

CHAPTER 25

T
raveling by thought might be miraculous, but it certainly messed with my equilibrium. When Bryce suddenly released me, I stumbled backward, straining to catch my balance.

We'd materialized, or metamorphosed, or whatever the hell we'd done, in the center of a lavish balcony.

I shuffled a few steps toward the railing, and my mouth fell open.

We were definitely at high elevation.

I reached that conclusion because mountain peaks were visible through high-placed windows, and from my vantage point the angels with fangs painted on the vast ceiling looked close enough to touch. I'd never even imagined such a place. It reminded me of a photo of a European opera house I'd seen in a magazine, except much bigger.

Was this the famous ghostly castle?

The walls were lined with ornate balconies, one underneath the other, each filled with people in costumes. The terrace we'd popped onto seemed to be the only one with limited occupancy.

Stretching out below me was an extraordinary ballroom. Everything was gold, sparkling gold, from the designs in the antique wallpaper, to the water fountains strategically placed throughout the room, to the nude sculptures. Dazzling chandeliers burst down from the painted ceiling, dangling like mammoth crystal earrings.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say there were thousands of people milling about in the main area. The costumes were incredible—assuming they were costumes.

An amplified voice floated through the air: “Welcome to the Vampires' Ball.”

I raised my arms over my head, signaling, calling to the partygoers across the stadium-size space.

A commotion behind me caused me to turn my head in time to watch Bryce pull a screaming Ronald by his hair toward a door in the far wall. Raleigh followed, dragging the still-unconscious Alan, whose wig, glasses, and hat were missing in action.

I guess Bryce didn't care if I yelled or drew attention to myself by waving my arms madly. He left me standing against the railing, turning back once to sneer at me before disappearing through the doorway.

The noise level told me why he didn't care. Even if I set myself on fire and screamed, no one would've taken it seriously. I couldn't be heard over the ear-splitting music or the hysterical frivolity, and if I'd been inclined to turn myself into a human torch, they'd probably think it was part of the night's entertainment.

Jumping from the balcony wasn't an option, either. Even if I made it to the next level down, the distance was great enough that I'd kill not only myself, but the unlucky soul I landed on.

After making one last futile effort to communicate to anyone that I needed help, I gave up and followed them through the door.

I felt numb. I didn't know if I was getting used to being terrified or if my adrenal system had simply gone into overload and shut down.

Under any other circumstances, the beauty of the room on the other side of the doorway would've taken my breath away. As it was, words failed me. All the walls of the expansive room were mirrored. Several large chandeliers, like light-flowers in bloom, hung from the hand-painted ceiling and reflected the never-ending glow of the clusters of illumination. Instead of angels with fangs, the painting overhead depicted fanged Greek gods and goddesses playing musical instruments.

I wondered if the original owner of the castle had been the one to order the vampire-inspired artwork or if it was a more recent addition. There hadn't been anything like these fanged characters in Devereux's art gallery under the Crypt, but it wasn't out of the range of possibility that he'd painted these, too.

The exquisite music room contained several grand pianos, each a different style, forming a widely spaced square around the perimeter of the room. Harpsichords, antique harps, and other instruments filled the spaces between the pianos. Music stands holding what appeared to be handwritten scores waited patiently for musicians who might never arrive.

In the center of the room Midnight was lying, deathly white. Bryce must've released Ronald when they'd entered because he was sitting on the floor next to Midnight, his legs underneath her head. He gently stroked her hair, murmuring softly.

I rushed over to the couple, knelt, and felt for a pulse in Midnight's neck, which was dotted with fang-size holes. The beat was there, faint, but present.

Ronald and I shared a look that communicated relief, frustration, and fear.

Bryce swaggered into the center of the room, his crimson coat and dark hair reflected in every facet of the mirrors. Once again I was struck by evil's ability to be beautiful.

“Is she going to die?” I asked, standing.

Bryce walked a circle around Midnight, studying her as if she were a mildly interesting display, smiling. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. It all depends on whether or not I choose to finish what I started.” He raised his eyes to mine. “Maybe I'll give her the immortality she's always wanted.”

I remembered what happened the last time Bryce pulled me into his eyes, so I didn't meet his gaze, but instead focused on a spot between his eyebrows. Even being in that close proximity to his dark-green orbs caused a fuzzy, tingling feeling in what Devereux had called my “third eye.”

For some odd reason, Cerridwyn's words floated through my mind:

“Don't be afraid of your own abilities—they will save you.” Her words didn't make any sense to me, but they sounded important, comforting.

I knew I had no chance of doing anything physical to get away from Bryce. Even if I managed to escape, I couldn't leave Ronald, Midnight, and Alan behind. My only hope was to use my mind. Maybe if I could get him talking, I could discover something helpful. “Why have you brought us here? What do you want?”

“You, my dear Dr. Knight, are bait.”

Bait? Was he trying to catch Brother Luther too?

“Bait? For what?”

He hesitated. “Well, I guess since the curtain is about to rise on the first act, it's prudent to tell you. Lucifer seems to want you for some reason, so I brought you here for him. Then he'll get me what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

He licked his lips and ran one hand slowly down the zipper of his leather pants, cupping himself. “I thought I made myself quite clear—I want Devereux.”