Vampire Games (6 page)

I had seen enough of the lights, the gaudy hotels, the plaid tourist shorts, the filth, the degradation, the glitter—and beat my massive wings as hard as I could and shot up into the night sky. I continued flapping them, forcing the rapidly-cooling air down below me. I rose higher and higher, so high that Vegas itself was nothing more than a pinprick of light.

A
bright
pinprick of light, but a pinprick nonetheless.

Here, on the outer edges of the atmosphere, where little or no oxygen existed, I flapped idly, serenely, holding my position. My mind was mostly empty. Mostly. Images of Kingsley flitted through. Of my son with his growing strength. Of my daughter who seemed to understand that something very strange was happening in the Moon household.

I would have to tell her, too,
I thought.
Tell them both. Everything.

Up here, far above Earth, it was easy to forget that I was a mother, that I had responsibilities. Up here, high above the Earth, it was easy to forget who I was. Up here, drifting on jet-streams and updrafts, buoyed by winds unfelt and unknown by anything living, it was easy to forget I had once been human.

The wind was cold. But not so cold as to affect me in any way. I merely acknowledged the cold, like a scientist noting the cancerous effects of the latest sugar substitute in lab rats.

I spread my wings wide and rode the wind, rising and falling, listening to it thunder over my ears and flap the leathery membranes that were my wings. I did this for an unknowable amount of time, hovering high above the Earth, correcting my altitude ever-so-slightly with minute adjustments to my wings, turning my wrists this way and that, angling my arms this way and that.

This way and that, adjusting, correcting, hovering.

Later, I tucked my wings in and shot down, aiming for the bright speck of light, perhaps the brightest speck of light ever.

Las Vegas.

Chapter Twelve

I alighted on the balcony.

There, I merged with the serious-looking, dark-haired woman in the flame and, after a moment of slight disorientation, found myself standing naked again on the balcony of the MGM Grand Hotel. I often wondered what the transformation process looked like to an outsider. Did I contort and jerk like they do in the movies? Or did I transform in a blink of an eye? I always sensed that my transformation took only a few seconds, but since my eyes were always closed and focused on the flame, I would probably never know. Maybe I would transform for Kingsley one night.

Yeah, I’m a freak.

I donned the white robe I had left draped over the railing and stepped back into my room. I was just tying the terrycloth belt when I paused. My inner alarm didn’t necessarily go off, but it perked up. A slight buzzing just inside my ear.

Someone’s here,
I thought.

A shape appeared in my thoughts, something glowing—and it appeared, I was sure, directly behind me.

I was moving in an instant, turning, swooping low to the ground, and slammed into whoever was behind me so hard that I drove him into the drywall.

There, I held them up while plaster dust rained down over his shoulders and down onto my raised forearms.

A man. A very beautiful man.

Who gazed down at me with a bemused expression. He was, of course, not a man at all. He was an angel. My one-time guardian angel now turned rogue, so to speak.

I eased my grip and Ishmael dropped lightly to the floor. He shook his head and dust and smaller chunks of wall fell from his long, silver hair and broad shoulders. “Do you greet all your guests this way, Samantha?”

I dusted off my own arms. “Well, let’s just say I haven’t had a lot of luck in hotel rooms.”

If not for a slight prickling of my inner alarm, I would have been completely off-guard. And these days, with my ever expanding extra-sensory perception, someone catching me off-guard was getting harder and harder to do. Unless, of course, that someone was a rogue angel, who seemed to be making a habit of catching me unaware.

“
Not as unaware as you might think, Samantha,” he said. Unlike other immortals, Ishmael had access to my thoughts. No surprise there, since he’d been my one-time guardian angel. He finished dusting himself off and looked at me. “For the first time, you sensed me nearby. That’s quite an accomplishment, and a credit to your growing powers.”

Still, I didn’t like the implications of that statement. “So you’re around me often?”

“
What can I say, Samantha? Old habits die hard.”

“
So, you’re often around me?” I repeated, digesting this news.

He nodded. “Myself, and others.”

“
What others?”

“
You know some of them.”

“
Sephora,” I said, recalling the entity I had communicated with last year through automatic writing.

“
Yes. Her and others like her.”

“
Spirit guides,” I said, recalling one of my conversations with Sephora.

“
Spirit guides, deceased relatives, angels. What some would call your soul group.”

“
And you.”

“
Not officially,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“
Not since you fell.”

His eyes flashed briefly. “Not since I
chose
a different path.”

Although I couldn’t read his thoughts—which seemed damned unfair to me—I could clearly see his aura. And it pulsated around, intermixed with rich color...and deep blackness.

What had once been pure white light—loving light—was now being slowly overrun with coils of blackness so deep that it gave even me the creeps. Even now, something dark and slithery wound around his narrow torso. I watched, fascinated, as it worked its way, around and around, to eventually plunge into his heart region. I was reminded of something monstrous rising up from the ocean depths, something that had no business seeing the light. I shuddered.

“
I repulse you,” he said. The sadness in his voice was obvious.

“
What gave it away?” I said.

I suddenly wanted a cigarette.
Needed
a cigarette. I headed over to my purse, found the pack of Virginia Slims, and lit up.

Ishmael watched my every move closely. I sensed that he was used to watching me closely. That he had always watched me closely. From either afar, or nearby. He had been, after all, my guardian angel.

Of course, I use that term loosely.

That he failed his job miserably was an understatement. That he had done so purposefully was reprehensible.

“
Reprehensible is such a strong word, Samantha,” he said. “I needed you to be immortal. It was, after all, the only way we could be together.”

“
You put me in harm’s way. You put my kids in harm’s way. You put anyone who ever crosses paths with me in harm’s way.”

“
Only if you do not learn to control who you are, Samantha.”

“
And I suppose you’re just the one to teach me?”

“
I can help you, Sam.”

“
Didn’t you cause this mess?”

“
I did it for love—”

“
Shove it,” I said, shaking my head.

His clothing, I noted, seemed to shift in color. One moment, his slacks were beige, then brown, then tan. Or maybe I was just going crazy.

“
Not crazy, Sam. My clothing is an illusion, of course.”

“
Of course. That doesn’t sound crazy at all.”

I exhaled, and looked at him through the churning cigarette smoke. He was a beautiful man. Perhaps the most beautiful I’d ever seen. Too beautiful.

“
And what about the rest of you?” I asked.

“
Illusion, of course. But I see I have chosen a favorable form.”

“
Why are you here?”

He continued smiling, and the darkness that swarmed around him—the black snakes and worms and creepy-crawly things—seemed to grow in numbers. It was as if I was seeing evil multiplying before my very eyes. Deepening, propagating. I shivered.

“
I’m here to give you news of your dog.”

I looked at him sharply. He was, of course, referring to Kingsley. “What about him?”

“
He’s not a very loyal dog, now is he?” Ishmael smiled broadly. Wickedly.

“
What the fuck do you mean?”

“
When the vampire’s away, the dog shall play.”

I brought the cigarette up to my lips, but instead of inhaling, crumpled it in my hands. The temporary burn made me gasp, but the pain faded quickly. “You’re lying.”

He said nothing, only watched me from the deep shadows of my room, looking supremely pleased.

I looked at my hand. The red mark in the center of my palm was already fading. I threw the remnants of the cigarette over to the closest ashtray. It missed.

“
You’re trying to drive a wedge between us,” I said.

“
I didn’t have to try very hard, Samantha.”

I sensed the not-so-hidden meaning in his words. “You set him up,” I said. “Planted someone.”

“
Call it what you want, Sam. But your doggie took the bait.”

“
Who is she?”

“
Does it matter?”

A familiar sickness appeared in my stomach. Re-appeared. It was a sickness that had nothing to do with the supernatural, a sickness I had lived with for many, many years with Danny. I rubbed my temples and took lots of slow, deep breaths, and when I moved my hand away, I was alone in the hotel room, but I sensed the angel was near. Always near.

The son-of-a-bitch.

Chapter Thirteen

It was early afternoon and something was wrong.

I’d been feeling it all day. The forty-five minute plane ride from Vegas to Ontario had seemed like an eternity. Now, driving home from the airport, an inexplicable fear gripped me. Something was seriously wrong.

Except I didn’t know what.

My kids,
I thought, pressing the gas harder.
Something with my kids.

But what?

I didn’t know. Not yet.

Having extrasensory perception had its benefits, but also its pitfalls. Being keenly aware that something was wrong, but not knowing what, was, if anything, torture.

A moment later, as the dread in me grew to a fever pitch, my cell phone rang. It was my sister, of course.

My kids.

A car blasted its horn next to me. I jumped, jerking my wheel. I had inadvertently swerved into its lane. It continued honking at me even as I snatched up the phone and made an inhuman sound. A squeak, of some sort.

My kids, of course, were staying with their Aunt Mary Lou.

“
Mary Lou,” I gasped, pressing the phone hard into my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“
How—never mind.” She swallowed. “It’s Tammy.”

“
What about Tammy? What’s wrong?” My voice had reached a very loud, shrill note.

“
She ran away, Sam.”

I took in a lot of worthless air. I had expected worse, true. Running away wasn’t the worst, granted, but it wasn’t good either. Tammy was, after all, only ten years old.

“
When did she leave?”

Mary Lou explained that Tammy had been grumpy all day, irritable. I nodded to myself as Mary Lou spoke. Yes, I’d been noticing this lately, too, although I had chalked it up to her going through some life changes. My sister had assumed Tammy was in her guest room all day, either reading or on the phone. Later, Anthony came out of the very same room and asked where Tammy was. They searched the house and called her cell phone. Her phone was turned off. And that’s when Mary Lou called me.

“
Did anyone see her leave?”

“
No, but we’re pretty sure she went out the back door, then through the side gates.”

“
Did she take a bike?”

“
All the bikes are here.”

“
Did you hear a car pull up front?”

“
No, but we weren’t paying a lot of attention to the front of the house.”

Shit.

Although I didn’t have access to my own children’s thoughts, that didn’t mean they completely escaped my extra-sensory perception, which was why I had sensed something was wrong, and why I had seen the dark halo around Anthony last year, when he had been critically ill.