Zen and the Art of Vampires (11 page)

There was no dissenting comment, so I dialed the number for room service and placed an order for a breakfast for two.

“Coffee or tea for breakfast, Alec?” I asked, one hand over the phone.

I frowned after another moment of silence.

“Madam?” the room service person prodded.

“Um . . . how about one coffee and one tea,” I said to cover both bases, then hung up and went to the bathroom door. “Alec? Do you prefer coffee or tea?”

No sound of running water greeted me. There was a faint scrabbling sound, however, a sort of odd rustle that had me suddenly panicked. What if he'd slipped and hit his head on the counter? “Alec, are you OK in there?”

Silence met my question, silence that was broken only by what sounded like a whimper.

“I'm coming in. I hope you don't mind, but if you're hurt or stuck or something, I can help.”

The bathroom faced southeast, and I knew from previous mornings would be filled with morning sunlight diffused through the privacy glass. I opened the door slowly, relieved to see that there was no man hunched over the toilet injured or being sick. That relief immediately turned to horror as the door swung all the way open.

“Oh dear god!” My skin crawled as I ran forward at the sight of the bloodied body that lay slumped up against the cupboard beneath the sink, the handle of a knife protruding from the chest. “Oh my god!”

It wasn't a man's body—it was a woman. A woman whose eyes opened slightly as I squatted next to her, unsure of what I should do. There was so much blood, sprayed on the wall and door opposite, splattered on the floor and sink and shower glass. “Don't move. I'll call the aid unit,” I told the woman, then did a double take when I realized I knew her. “Anniki?”

She made a horrible mewing noise, her hands fluttering toward the knife as I spoke. “Take . . . it.”

I stared in horror at the bloody knife. Only the handle was visible, the blade having clearly been sunk deep into her chest cavity.

“Take . . .”

I touched the hilt, giving it the slightest of tugs. If it wasn't in as far as I thought, perhaps she just didn't have the strength to yank it out.

It didn't budge.

“I'm sorry, Anniki, but I don't think that's a good idea. On the cop shows I've seen, they always leave things in people when they take them to the hospital.”

“Take . . .” She gasped, her eyes opening wide suddenly. Her hands grabbed me with a strength that startled me, her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my palm.

I bit back a yelp as pain laced my hand.

“Let justice roll down like waters,” she said, her voice taking on a strange, distant timbre, “and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

“What . . . ? I don't . . .”

“You must right the wrongs,” Anniki begged. “Promise me!”

“I promise!” I said hastily, trying to pull my hand back, more than a little sickened at the sight of all the blood. The way her fingernails dug into my flesh, I assumed some of it was going to be mine. “I swear to you that I'll do anything you want, only let me go call for some help first.”

A horrible gurgling noise rose from deep in her chest as she released my hand, reaching for her neck, her hands so slick with her own blood that her fingers fumbled with the clothing. “Take it. Follow the light. Make things . . . right. Be the stream.”

The gurgling noise grew as she whimpered with frustration, her hands finally closing around a thin chain worn around her neck. She pulled it off slowly, the chain cutting into her flesh for a second before it snapped. “Remember the light. Always remember . . .”

Her hands closed around mine, cold and wet with blood. I stared in horror that seemed to have no end as her eyes rolled back in her head. Her hands dropped limply to the floor, and I knew with absolute conviction that she had just died.

Every atom in my body recoiled with revulsion, my brain screaming at me to get away from the dead person. I don't know how long I stared with dumb incomprehension at her slackened face before my gaze finally drifted to my hands. They were covered in blood now, deep, crimson, crescent-shaped welts on my palm indicative of just how hard she'd gripped my hands. My blood mingled with hers as I stared in horror down at myself—it wasn't just my hands that were bloody; my arms and much of the front of my bathrobe were soaked red.

The moonstone from the bookmark I'd seen earlier was now hung on the bloody chain that lay across my bleeding palm. It was the stone that Anniki had pressed into my hands, and my brain, numb with shock, slowly brought itself back to life and realized what had just happened.

Let justice roll down like waters
, she'd said. I recognized that from childhood Sunday school classes—it was from the Bible. Anniki had begged me to follow the light, to right the wrong done to her. She wanted me to be Zorya. And I had sworn I would.

Minutes seemed to crawl by as I knelt next to the mortal remains of Anniki, too stunned to sort through my wild thoughts. Why was she in my bathroom? Who killed her? What was I going to do about the deathbed promise I'd just given? And most importantly, where was Alec?

“Get a grip, Pia,” I said aloud, and was shocked to hear how shaky my voice was. Somehow, I'd also been crying without knowing it. Bracing myself, I reached out a tentative hand to Anniki's wrist, gently taking it in hope of feeling a pulse.

There was none, of course. I hadn't really expected one, not since I was so certain she was dead, but I had to make sure. I stared at the body and blood-splattered bathroom, hoping against hope there would be some answer to all the questions that spun around in my mind, but there was nothing. Anniki had somehow magically appeared in my bathroom and been nearly murdered and left to die—all without me being aware of anything. I glanced quickly over to the door leading to Madga's room. Perhaps she or Ray . . . I shook my head even as I thought it. The door was locked from this side. I knew I had left it unlocked, which meant someone else had locked it.

That thought chilled me like no other, and had the benefit of sending me flying from the bathroom. I stared at the bloodied stone in my hand, throwing it on the bed as I thought furiously. “I'll have to call the police. They'll want me to leave everything just as it is, but what am I going to do about the stone? Think, Pia, think!”

Clothing. I needed to get dressed. That was the first priority—not even the police could expect me to wait around in a bloody bathrobe for them to arrive. With shaking hands I yanked off the robe, and quickly grabbed my clothing.

“Ick.” My hands were still damp with blood. I glanced toward the bathroom, unwilling to go back in there, but having no other choice. I averted my eyes from Anniki's still body, using a damp towel to wash the blood off of me. I was about to leave when I realized I was being heartless beyond belief, and forced myself to go back into the room. I knelt on the towel, and with tears streaming down my face, took Anniki's hand in mine. “I'm not a religious person, but I understand what you asked. I don't know if I can bring about justice, but I'll do the best I can,” I told her, and closing my eyes, said a prayer for the passage of her soul.

Grief washed over me, grief for the loss of a woman who had been so vibrant only a few hours before. I might not have known her well or long, but she deserved better than this. She deserved justice.

“I'll do what you asked,” I said, my voice thick with tears as I pressed her fingers. “I don't know how, but I will right the wrong done to you. You can rest easy on that account.”

It didn't take long for me to mop the tears from my face and hurry into my clothing. I was next to Anniki, unsure of whether or not I should cover her with a blanket before calling the police, when a knock sounded at my door.

I froze for a second, terrified the killer had come back, but realized after a moment of incoherent thought that it must be the breakfast I'd ordered.

“Pia, can I borrow some ibuprofen? I've got the world's worst head—”

A familiar voice had me spinning around.

Denise stood in the doorway of the bathroom, her eyes and mouth making little
O
s of horror as she stared at the body on the floor.

“I didn't kill her,” I blurted out, seeing the accusation in her eyes. I made a gesture of innocence, but Denise's eyes bugged out a bit more as she stared at my hand. It was red with blood. “Oh, that. That came from the stone she gave me. I really didn't kill her,” I repeated. “I found her like that. Well, she was alive, but she died right away.”

Denise started to back away slowly.

“Do I look like I'm the sort of person to stab another person in the heart?” I asked, following her out of the bathroom.

She paused for a moment, then flung back her head and screamed in the most unearthly way.
“Murder!”

“Hell's bells, Denise, I just told you—”

“Murderer!”
she screamed again, raising her hand to point at me.

It's an old adage that your life passes before your eyes when you're about to die. I'm living proof that such an idea is completely false. Not only did a speedy vision of all my life's high and low points zip through my mind at that moment, but a vision of the immediate future followed, one in which I tried to explain to the police about such things as Zoryas, handsome men who apparently indulged in one-night stands before disappearing into the blue, a group devoted to ridding the world of evil, and just how a dead woman I'd seen a few hours before happened to be murdered literally right next to me.

In my bathroom.

With my fingerprints on the murder weapon.

And a precious gem belonging to her now in my possession. All that zipped through my brain in the time it took for Denise to scream out one word. By the time she sucked in the air needed to fuel another scream, I'd come to a decision—there was no way I was going to be able to explain any of the happenings of the previous day. I'd have to seek help from people who wouldn't think I was crazy.

I didn't say anything more to Denise; I simply grabbed the moonstone, flung open the French doors that led to a small balcony, and climbed over the railing, praying I wouldn't break a leg in the fall to the grassy lawn one floor below.

I hit the ground hard, but not so hard that I injured myself. Denise's scream wafted out of the open doors, which set me to running out of the tiny garden at the back of the hotel. I raced around to the front of the building, pausing for a moment to get my bearings. In front of the hotel sat a familiar-looking car, the passenger door of which opened almost immediately.

“Alec,” I cried gratefully, and ran for the haven he offered.

The startled look in Kristoff's blues eyes told me he wasn't waiting outside the hotel for me.

“Where's Alec?” he asked, frowning as he peered over my shoulder.

Behind me, a woman screamed. I hesitated, unwilling to trust him, but equally unsure whether I would stand a better chance with the authorities.

The memory of the glow of pleasure in Denise's eyes as she screamed at me was the deciding point.

“I don't know,” I answered, hopping into the car, slamming closed the door, and slumping down in the seat. “But we're about to have company, so unless you want to explain to the police why your buddy disappeared, leaving a murdered woman in my bathroom, I'd suggest you get moving.”

I'll say this for the harsh Kristoff—he didn't need to be told twice. He just slammed his foot on the accelerator and peeled off.

“Stay down,” he commanded, using one hand to shove me onto the floor.

I wasn't about to argue the point. I curled up in as small a ball as I could and tried to keep from banging my head on the door or dashboard as he zoomed through the streets.

“We're out of the town. You can get up now. Who's been killed?” he asked after a few minutes.

“The Zorya.” I winced when he took a corner too quickly, slamming me back against the car door. “Are we being followed?”

“You are the Zorya,” he insisted, his face grim as I hauled myself into the seat, quickly grabbing for the seat belt.

“I am now, but I wasn't as of an hour ago. That job was held by a woman named Anniki.”

“No,” he said, his eyes on the road as he sped out of town. I glanced around. The car had darkly tinted windows, which gave everything a dull blue-black flavor, but I thought I recognized the road leading to a quaint little fishing village to the south that my group had visited on our first day in Iceland.

“Look, I know you didn't believe me before when I said that I wasn't the Zorya, but I really wasn't. Then.”

“No, we're not being followed,” he said, casting me a curious glance. “You knew the Zorya.”

“It turns out I did, although I wasn't aware of it.” I pulled off my necklace with its modest little garnet rose, and slipped the moonstone onto the chain, wrapping it around my wrist a couple of times before securing it. Did Kristoff know that Alec spent the night with me? If he was waiting outside the hotel for his friend, it would appear he did. “You don't know where Alec is?”

“He said he was going to be with you.” Kristoff's jaw tightened. Obviously, he didn't approve of Alec's interest in me.

“He was. At least, he was there when I fell asleep. He wasn't there when I woke up. What were you doing outside the hotel?”

If he heard the suspicion in my voice, he didn't comment on it. “Alec told me to pick him up in the morning. Tell me about the Zorya.”