The Vampire's Seduction (5 page)

Holding the blackened shard of English oak, I put up a hand for quiet. I let the awareness of evil guide me, and it spoke in a harsh, stinging voice, an old forbidden tongue. I recognized its blasphemous language. And I recognized the presence of an old enemy. Reedrek.

The final time I’d seen my beloved Diana, she’d been in his presence, too. Screaming . . . and dying. Reaching out to me with pleading hands.

“William! For God’s pity, do something. Help us!” she’d wailed as Reedrek worked, tearing at her clothes, her neck.

Then he’d turned on our son.

And I, awake but unable to speak or move, hadn’t been able to save her, or Will, or myself. I would’ve killed them both with my own hands rather than have their last moments end so savagely.

My life for theirs,
I’d offered, stupidly making a gentleman’s deal with a monster. Rather than keeping the bargain, he’d acted with the sort of cunning that can only be summoned by pure evil. He’d not only killed my family, but by making me immortal, he’d gleefully planted the memory of their agonizing deaths in my brain for eternity.

I wore a feverous hatred like a cloak from that day forward. And I bore anger at life itself—because in making me, Reedrek had gained a barely human protégé while protecting himself. For, no matter now much rage and hatred runs through my cursed veins, a blood offspring can never kill its sire.

Now old fury rose within . . . crawling through my heightened sense that something very much worse than death had visited the
Alabaster.

I wrapped the scorched wood of the stake in my handkerchief and slipped it into my breast pocket, close to my unbeating heart. I had to remain focused. When I touched the rail in the gangway, the screams inside my head increased, ringing through the polished brass like a tuning fork.

Reedrek.

My maker, my so-called sire, my reason for existing, and the object of my death grudge. Not my mortal father, yet Reedrek’s black blood ran in my veins. His treachery had blighted my heart forever. If he’d set foot on this continent, then it was certain he was looking for me, calling me out. But how had he gotten on my ship?

It was dark below. I moved the light over the galley and past the living/dining area. The door to the forward customized cargo hold stood ajar. The strongest inner hatch, built to withstand any normal calamity, had its double safe-quality locks ripped and broken.

“Whew! What a god-awful stink,” Jack said.

That’s another advantage vampires have over humans—other than being harder to kill, that is. In death, vampires burn clean—to ash. Humans are too juicy to burn; they must rot.

I shoved aside what was left of the hatch and entered the cargo area. The hold could’ve been called spacious, if not for the seven-foot-long, ornately carved mahogany coffin resting on a raised, dirt-filled trough. The screams in my head were receding, a testament to my tainted but potent New World blood. I handed my light to Jack before bending to run my hand along the gold inlay gracing the heavy lid, which was resting on its side. Beautiful handwork. Algernon always had good taste. Before rising, I gathered a handful of dirt. It had been more than a lifetime since I’d set foot on English soil. Even in the stuffy, evil-smelling hold I brought the dirt close and drew in the lingering familiar smell of Derbyshire, of family, of home. I’ve lived long enough to realize that as humans our birthplace is somehow etched into our cells. Even living for more than five hundred years couldn’t erase it from my memory.

“Do you suppose old Ambrose went ballistic from being locked in?” Jack asked. “Surely he wasn’t scared of tight places?” Jack knew as well as I did that it had taken more than average vampire strength to do such damage to the door. “Or maybe his appetite got ahead of his contract with you.”

There would’ve been no reason for that. The cabin was equipped with several glass cages containing live animals. Jack called them the three Rs—rabbits, raccoons, and rats—and there were enough to keep a vampire quite happy for a month or more. Then there was the refrigerator, which was routinely stocked with at least ten pints of human blood when it left the Irish coast. Jack opened the door. There were only four remaining.

I dropped the dirt and dusted my hands together. “His name is Algernon . . . not Ambrose.” Even as I said it, I knew I should’ve said
was
Algernon. The remains of the vampire on deck were surely his. But what had happened? Who had staked him?

Not a human—or even four humans, for that matter. In my opinon that left only Reedrek. It seemed my successful little smuggling enterprise had been compromised.

“Find the smell,” I said.

It took only a moment. “Bingo,” Jack said from the other side of the room. The highest cabinet was stuffed with what looked like butchered beef. A human hand protruded from the slaughter, still wearing a wristwatch. “One of the crew accounted for,” Jack added.

Damn.

I returned to the deck with Jack following. Any discernible evidence of a presence ended when my foot settled on the dock. No wake to follow, no rhyme to the riddle. If Reedrek had stowed away and was bound for Savannah, he could’ve left the boat at any time during the night. More than likely near Lazarus Point. “There’s nothing more to do here,” I said to the small group of men waiting for instructions. “I want you to tow the ship out to deep water and sink her.”

Tarney looked like I’d asked him to commit murder. “But sir, we can pull her into the slip and give her an overhaul.”

I thought of the grisly cargo hold and what the men’s logical reaction would be.

“I want her blown up.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw on Jack’s face a mixture of shock and excitement. Reading his emotions, I knew that he would mourn the
Alabaster
’s loss as much as I. But the little boy in him would be pleased to make something that big go
ka-boom,
as he would put it. Doctor Phillip would probably say Jack had never lost touch with his inner child.

“And what about the law?” one of the other men asked.

“They might be interested, if I invited them to stumble around in my business. Which I’m not inclined to do.”

“What of the crew?” Tarney asked. “There were four men on that boat when it left here.”

One of whom was still aboard. I turned to face the empty, forlorn hull of the
Alabaster,
one of my favorite toys. The rest of the human crew were surely as dead as Alger. Reedrek would only be getting his cold heart warmed up to the slaughter. “Yes, the men . . .” I faced Tarney once more. There was nothing more to be done. The police would be no help in solving this particular crime. “Report them missing after the ship is destroyed.”

“But—”

“They read and signed the contracts, just as the rest of you did. Mourn their loss, open their lockers, and pay their debts. It’s all we can do.” I’d made it a practice to hire unattached men who kept to the shady side of the law. No families, no roots. No one to search for them if they dropped off the edge of the ocean. My employees were paid very well and protected by my reputation. In return, they kept their mouths shut about any business involving the marina or myself. None of them knew, however, that by signing those contracts they’d come very close to selling their souls.

To me.

“I’ll find out who did this.”

Tarney nodded but I could see he was unhappy. Well-paid loyalty might not be enough if anything like this occurred again.

My anger boiled up a few degrees. The maker of this mess was truly getting on my more dangerous nerve. Then again, there had never been any love lost between me and my unholy
father.
If he’d found me I needed to prepare. Reedrek wouldn’t be after my heart; he’d be after my equilibrium and my sanity. There are things worse than death, and Reedrek was a master at finding the perfect enduring torture for his enemies. I had defied him for three hundred years after my apprenticeship and had no intention of being his victim again.

Out of habit, I tugged out my pocket watch—an heirloom of my supposed ancestors—and checked the time. I didn’t actually need it, for I could feel the movement of the earth turning, the approach of another day. Four hours until dawn. “Jack, you know what needs to be done. Pull the security tapes and any paperwork you can find, along with the charts, GPS, and computer hard drive. I’ll pick you up at the river walkway at Lazarus Point in three hours.”

For once, Jack didn’t argue with me—until I asked for the keys to his car.

“No way. You’ll leave chunks of my transmission all the length of Bay Street.”

I hated when Jack quarreled with me in front of others. The man had no sense of place or decorum. But then, what could you expect of someone whose greatest desire was to become a race car driver? Sometimes he was more human than I ever remembered being. That was one of the things I scrupulously protected about him, without his knowledge, of course. There were times when I regretted keeping him ignorant on so many dark subjects. This wasn’t one of those times. I held out my hand for the keys.

He tossed them to Richardson. “Let Richey drive you home. He can bring my car back and leave it here.”

Richey, as Jack called him, looked like he’d rather board the
Alabaster
and climb into the empty coffin than be shut up in a vehicle with me. Unable to utter a refusal, he took one quick glance in my direction, then took two full steps backward.

I wasn’t in the mood to coddle any more humans. “Get in the car,” I ordered under my breath and permitted Richey to feel a small dose of my anger. He immediately trotted toward the Corvette.

“How do you do that?” Jack said, shaking his head.

I allowed Jack more than a glimpse of my displeasure. Of the few things I needed at the moment, Jack’s little rebellion didn’t qualify. “Practice,” I answered, then, “Three hours.”

He wisely nodded.

After a silent and somewhat safer drive from the marina to my home on Houghton Street, Richey left me with a petrified nod and a squeal of tires. An action Jack would’ve admired, I’m sure. I paced up the walk past ivy-covered walls and the massive concrete lions guarding the stairs. As I reached the door it swung open, revealing one of my guardians, Reyha, in her long-boned and graceful human form, standing just inside the threshold. If she’d had the tail associated with her daytime form, it would’ve been wagging. She smiled as she twined herself about me in greeting, pushing her cheek into my coat.

“It’s lonely here without you,” she whispered near my ear before bouncing away toward her brother, Deylaud, who seemed perfectly engrossed in reading a book. “Aren’t we lonely, brother?” she asked as she propped her arm along the back of his chair. Deylaud rumbled something inaudible but pushed to his feet to give me a brief embrace.

“Some of us are lonelier than others,” he said, awarding his sister an arch look. “Why won’t you let me teach you to read English books?”

Reyha rolled her wide eyes heavenward. “Pah! Books. There is no life in books, only the dreams of others.” She sashayed toward me once more. “I have enough dreams of my own.”

“And I have no time for you tonight, sweet.” I ran the fingers of one hand through her long silken hair. “I have to leave again shortly.”

She hung her head in disappointment for a moment, then brightened. “May I go with you?”

“No, you must stay here with Deylaud. You’ve the whole house for roaming. I’ll be back in a few hours, before dawn surely.”

Knowing she would only continue her wheedling, I walked away. I had business to attend to before joining Jack at Lazarus Point. With a sniff of disappointment, Reyha retreated to the divan and sat on the cushions, curling her legs beneath her.

I headed for my basement office, tapping the wall sensor as I descended the final three steps from the landing. The electronic wizardry of high-end computer systems sprang to life and the heavy metal shutters covering the floor-to-ceiling windows of the house whirred open. I hate to be shut in after dark. Nights are my speciality, you might say. There are few enough sunless hours for my pursuits.

Out in the courtyard a breeze rustled through the stand of bamboo that guarded my privacy, and the waxing hunter’s moon winked from its reflection in the Japanese mirror pond. The image wavered like a small white ship on ocean waves.

The
Alabaster.

I heard the roar of the ocean—the voices of the shells calling me.

Out of habit, I felt for the hidden drawer in the antique wall unit. It slid open with a touch, and the pads of my fingers brushed along human bone. The box and the ancient shells within knew my name, my blood. Carved by an African voodoo priest out of the skull of his own father, the box of bone was one of the few things I owned that was older than I was. The shells were a gift from the venerable man’s great-great-great-granddaughter, Lalee. She’d given me something else as well, the gift of her power, of her bloodlines. I’d drunk it in, along with her rich blood—the ancient practice of voodoo. After stepping through the door to the courtyard, I sat down on the stone bench overlooking the water. I used my thumb to push open the lid of the box and stared at the eight white shells within. As I watched, the shells seemed to change size and shape, increasing their call. The roar of an agitated ocean pounding on a rocky shore filled my ears. From my pocket I withdrew the remnant of the stake from the
Alabaster,
unwrapped it, and held it in my hand. I shook the bone box until the shells rattled and dumped them on the stone at my feet.

The cool breeze feathered through the courtyard, then stilled. The mirror pond flattened completely to reflect the moon and the stars. Then the night went entirely dark, as though a velvet black hole in the sky had opened and swallowed all light. Instantly I found myself night flying—fast and low over moon-touched waves. In the distance I saw the twinkling running lights of the
Alabaster.

I heard a long low sound, a sigh or hiss as my feet touched down on the deck. It was a sorcerer’s trick I rarely used, this visioning, this stepping into the netherworld. Tonight, however, the shells would not be ignored. In the distance I could see the coastline. The ship rocked under my invisible feet, the moon rose low on the eastern horizon, and new blood reflected wetly in the light. Someone had already died. I drifted down the stairs toward voices.