Blood Red Dawn (4 page)

M
ax led me to an empty seat in the corner of the bar, where I could watch the patrons on the dance floor as well as those gathered into smaller groups. The club was fairly crowded; I wondered if this was a typical night and decided it probably was. Even so, with our appearance, the bartender, a young man with a goatee and a shaved head, snapped to attention and immediately came over to greet us.

“Derek will take good care of you until I can get away,” Max rubbed my shoulders lightly and nodded to the young man. “We'll need a glass of my private stock here, Derek. And keep her glass filled until I come back.”

“Right away, Mr. Hunter.”

I didn't bother to watch Max walk away, nor did I watch Derek fumble behind the bar. The sight and scent of a room so full of humans was enthralling, enticing. I licked my lips and inhaled deeply.

“Mrs. Hunter?”

I heard the name and the voice, but couldn't take my eyes away from the dancers.

The bartender cleared his throat. “Mrs. Hunter?”

He had to say the name one more time before I finally realized he was speaking to me.

“I'm sorry, Derek. I wasn't paying attention. Did you want something?”

He shook his head, “No.” He moved the glass he'd set in front of me a little closer. From the smell I could tell it was the same red liquid Max brought me every evening upon awakening and had me drink while we talked. “Just wanted you to have your wine.”

I crinkled my nose a bit and pushed the glass back to him. “Actually, I am not thirsty. But thank you anyway.”

“But,” he looked across the room to where Max was speaking to a group of waiters, lowering his voice in nervousness. “Please, Mrs. Hunter, if you don't drink it, Mr. Hunter will think I'm not doing my job.”

“And exactly what is your job, Derek? Are you a bartender or a babysitter?”

“Excuse me?”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him for a second, trying to figure out where he fit into the puzzle. Was he like the dancers and the other patrons here: human and fair prey? Was he like me? Or was he a creature like Max? And had I known him before?

Derek leaned over the bar and whispered. “You'll feel better if you drink it, you know. You haven't been well at all and Mr. Hunter has been worried sick.”

“Has he indeed? And what would you know of it?”

He smiled at me and winked. “Come on, Deirdre, surely you remember me. I know you've been sick and are having some trouble remembering the past. But I thought we were friends, thought you knew that I was on your side.”

“Side? I was not aware that there were sides.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really, Derek. Explain yourself please. Or go away and leave me alone. I do not need, nor do I want, someone watching my every move. Max already does more than enough of that to suit me.”

He laughed at this comment. “You really are feeling better, aren't you?”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, you are.” He nodded and pushed the glass of wine back to me. “I can tell. You're feisty again. You were always ready with a snappy comeback, always ready for a friendly argument.”

“And have you and I had many arguments?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “When we were first setting up the club? You don't remember? I hated the tables and hated the lamps. Wasn't particularly thrilled with the wallpaper either. I was always surprised that you didn't ask Max for my head on a silver platter. He'd have obliged you, I'm sure. He really does care for you. His devotion is touching.”

“Yes. Very. You were here when the club was opened? Just how long ago was that?.”

“About seventeen years ago,” he said, “or thereabouts.”

“Pardon me for saying so, Derek, but you hardly seem old enough to have been here for seventeen years already.”

He laughed again. “But I am older than I seem, Mrs. Hunter. You should remember that, if nothing else. I am one of yours.”

“One of mine?”

“You made me what I am today. And I have never looked back. I'm eternally grateful, of course.”

I nodded as if I just then remembered. “Ah. Then since you are one of mine, as you put it, you will take away this horrible drink and bring me a glass of your best Merlot. Won't you?”

He gulped and glanced around. I did the same. Max was nowhere to be seen, so I reached out and touched Derek's hand, staring into his eyes. “Max need never know. It will be our little secret.”

Derek nodded. “Fine,” he said, his voice a whisper, “if that's what you want.” He removed the glass in front of me, poured it into the sink and refilled it quickly from an open bottle sitting at the back of the bar. I took it from him and sniffed. It was wine, nothing more than that. After sipping it, I gave him a smile. “Thank you, Derek. That wasn't so difficult, was it?”

“No.” He went back to the other bottle and with another glance for Max, poured out the equivalent of a glass.
Such a sneaky young man,
I thought.
I'll know not to trust you in the future.
Then with a final nod to me, he moved away to the other end of the bar.

I stared after him for a minute. Was he really a vampire? And had I converted him? Neither his face nor his voice sparked one bit of recognition. Surely if he were mine, as he put it, I would feel some sort of bond with him. He sounded sincere, though; then again, he must merely be a better actor than I gave him credit for. Time would tell.

“Excuse me. I couldn't help but notice that you were getting good service over here. What's your secret?”

I looked up into the face of a conventionally handsome young man. He was tall, probably about six foot or more, well built, dressed casually in khakis and a button-down oxford cloth shirt, blond hair, blue eyes. A young barfly's dream come true. His smile seemed straightforward, but there was a look in his eyes that told me he was as far from that as a man could be. No matter. I didn't chose prey for their morals, quite the contrary.

Giving him a warm smile, I swung my body a little closer to him. “As it turns out, I know the owner.”

“Ah. That's a good thing. So? Do you think you could get the bartender's attention for me?” He deposited a glass on the bar, empty but for the clank of ice, “I could use another. It was a rough week.”

“It's Friday.” I said it out loud, bemused about not knowing the day of the week until he spoke. He gave me an odd look and I backpedaled a bit. “I mean that it's Friday, and it's always harder to get served on a Friday.”

“Yeah. Isn't it?”

“But I'll call Derek over if you like. What are you drinking?”

“Scotch on the rocks.”

The mention of that drink seemed appropriate to me, for no particular reason. I motioned to Derek. “I see. You really are having a bad week, aren't you?”

“I was. But I'm not now.” He shifted a little closer to me, twisting his empty glass around until Derek claimed it from him and refilled it. Dropping a five-dollar bill on the bar, the man accepted the drink, and took a long slow sip. “Why do you ask?”

I thought for a moment. Why did I ask? “No real reason. Although I think I must know someone who drinks that particular drink, at the end of a bad day. Or week. Then again, maybe I am just making conversation.” Shrugging, I extended my hand to him giving him my most seductive smile. “Deirdre,” I said. “It is nice to meet you.”

“Tom.” I could see that I puzzled him, intrigued him. That was what I was best at. He took my hand and kissed it. “Would you like to dance?”

“I thought you'd never ask.” I looked at him and smiled, sliding off the barstool. Derek stared after us as we went out to the dance floor, I could feel his eyes following us all the way. If he knew me as well as he claimed, he'd know that this was normal behavior for me. And that Max wouldn't object. After all, Max never had before. And I smiled with that thought, knowing it was true. He had never minded. In fact he'd often arranged meetings like this, but that had changed when I'd met . . .

I scowled briefly until Tom took me in his arms as the band began playing a slow song and we danced. Laying my head against his chest, listening to his heart beat, I hid my triumphant smile. Finally, something familiar. I was remembering. It turned out to be as simple as being in an accustomed situation, meeting people similar to those I'd interacted with in the past. I knew now that there had been many men in my life, not lovers, but donors. And that Max had often arranged for me to meet them. Here in this club.

I would take them to a back room somewhere, not Max's office, but another place. And there I would bite them on the neck and draw their blood into my mouth, swallowing each mouthful and savoring their different tastes, feeling the rush of heat hit my stomach and spread through my veins. With each step of the dance, I inhaled the smell of the man pressed up against me, remembering the sweet touch of blood on my lips, on my tongue, the tingling of my gums with the growth of my fangs. I remembered!

Soon, I would take this man by the hand and lead him to a quiet room. I would slowly unbutton his shirt and welcome the warmth of his hands on my body. My eyes would meet his and hold him there; slowly and sensuously, my mouth would whisper the words of seduction, then come down on his neck and I would drink my fill, I would . . .

“Excuse me,” I pushed Tom away and raced toward the ladies' room, barely making it into one of the stalls. Falling to my knees I vomited again and again, bringing up acid and bile and the Merlot I'd connived from Derek.

When I finished, I sat back on my heels. Women outside the door laughed and talked in stage whispers. “Can't hold her wine, that one.”

“Poor dear,” another said. “I remember the night I did three shots of tequila on an empty stomach. I didn't leave the bathroom for days.” They laughed again and then pushed out of the door. As it swung shut behind them, I knew I was alone and felt hot tears stream down my face.
What had those bastards done to me?

The door swung open again and there came a soft knock. “Deirdre? Are you okay?”

I sighed and got up, opened the stall and went to the sink, washing my hands and face. Snapping off the water, I turned to him. “No, Max, I am not. As well you know.”

He shrugged and took my arm, leading me from the restroom back down the hall to his office again. “I would have warned you, my dear,” he said as we walked, “if I had known that you were that desperate to feed. Or if only you'd drunk what Derek gave you, the urge would not have been so overwhelming. As always, though, you know best. Now maybe you'll stop fighting me and listen to what I have to say.”

I settled onto the leather couch, accepted the drink he offered, drained it, and held the glass back out to him.

“That's better. You're acting like a good, sensible girl. When I say you've been sick, Deirdre, perhaps now you will believe me. You have been very sick. And now you are getting better. But it will take time. You must not rush it.”

“But all I wanted to do was feed.” I heard a whine enter my voice. So be it. If he wished to treat me like I child I would act like one. “I remembered, Max, really remembered how to do it. I remembered how it felt, what the blood tasted like. It was wonderful.”

“And the operative word in that sentence, little one, is was.” He sighed and sat down next to me, taking my hand and twining my fingers together with his. “I, too, remember. But I have changed. And so will you, it's happening even now and there is no way to stop it.”

“What sort of change is happening, Max?”

Crooking an eyebrow at me, he smiled.
“You
know, Deirdre. Your body knows. Just as I'd planned, I have given you the gift you have always asked for, since the first day we met.”

Given me the gift I'd always wanted? Warning sirens went off in my head. At first he said he'd saved me from the vicious attack of the Others. And now, he made it sound like the attack was his idea all along. I'd waste no more trust or belief on him from this moment on. “What gift? What the hell are you talking about, Max? I thought you saved me, now you're telling me that it was all part of some plan of yours. What have you done?”

“I've made it possible for you to be human again.”

 

“P
regnant? Even though it's not even remotely funny, please tell me that you're joking.”

He shook his head. “I'm not joking.”

“But even if it was possible, with all the changes you say are occurring, for her to get pregnant, surely I'm physically incapable of providing the seed. And she's not been with anyone else. Not that way.”

Sam sighed. “I wasn't implying that, Mitch. Have you been drinking from the bags of blood I sent you?”

I thought for a moment. “Yeah. We both have. What does that have to do with anything?”

He looked away from me again and stared at the fire. “Those bags of blood were provided by the people for whom I was doing the blood research. Stupid of me, I know, to never actually look that gift horse in the mouth. The blood was tainted, of course. A nice little trap, if you will. Even without the addition of Maggie's blood, it's capable of causing change within those who ingest it. So, although you've not fully succumbed to the poison as Deirdre has, you are still affected, at least enough to cause your sperm count to be accelerated. So if she is pregnant, I can assure you with almost one hundred percent accuracy that it is your child.”

I laughed. “That's actually the least of my worries, Sam.” We'd certainly taken advantage of every opportunity available to make love. Just the thought of her made me ache with longing to be with her again. “Of course the child is mine.”

“And no wonder,
mon cher.”
Vivienne gave a small chuckle, staring pointedly at my towel-covered privates.

Following her eyes, I stared down at myself, suddenly embarrassed, and clutched the towel tighter about my waist. “Look,” I said, “just let me get dressed and we'll talk about it some more.”

I went back into the bathroom and began to dress, unsure of what to think about what Sam had just told me. If it were true, Deirdre would be pleased. Regardless of everything that led up to it or led away from it, the birth of a baby would be a blessing for her. And for me? I slid the T-shirt over my head and looked at myself in the mirror. “Face it, Greer,” I said with a grin, “you're pleased, too. You'd like nothing better than for this to be true.”

 

When I came out of the bathroom, Vivienne was sitting at the computer, typing at the keyboard, a look of extreme concentration on her face. She hit the return key and watched the resulting screen load. With a triumphant shout of
“Voilà!”
she turned to us and said, “I've found her.”

“Who?” I asked, rushing over to her and reading over her shoulder.

“The Breeder. She boarded a late flight to New York tonight with a connection from there to New Orleans the next morning. And apparently Chris is with her, since she bought two tickets and left this evening. We can't catch her now”—she looked at the clock—“since the sun has risen, but we can follow her.”

I looked at Viv with disbelief. “How did you find all that out so quickly?”

She gave a little giggle and flicked her hand at me. “While Sam was occupied in customs, I was making the acquaintance of a very helpful man at the reservations counter. He was most kind, very willingly gave me his password and employee ID. If I understand the instructions correctly, I can even book us a flight to follow. Would you like me to try?”

I kissed the top of her head. “Vivienne, you're a marvel. Yeah, book us.”

She typed some more and then reached over and turned on the printer. “E-tickets and boarding passes on the way for the night after next. If I remember right, it takes about five hours to drive from here to London. So we'll find a hotel close to the airport. I can do that online as well.” She turned back to the computer and began to type, a look of delight on her face.

“You seem quite proficient on that machine,” I said looking over her shoulder.

She laughed. “The Internet is a wonderful place, Mitch. Did you know you can shop any time of the day or night? No annoying sunrise to get in your way. And anything one could possibly ever want to know or to buy is all there, for the taking.”

Sam looked up at me and gave me a sheepish grin. “What can I say, Mitch? You should see some of the stuff she buys on auctions. I gave her a laptop computer and created a monster.”

Vivienne pulled off one of the pieces of paper on the printer and read it, then kicked her feet off from the floor, spinning the chair around several times. “Nonsense, Sam,
mon petit,”
she said, grinning up at him when she finally came to a stop, “I was a monster long before I met you.”

“You seem in a better mood now, Viv,” I said with a smile. “More like yourself.” Somehow the knowledge that she wasn't afraid relaxed me, returned my confidence that we would beat Steven DeRouchard at his sick little game.

She smiled at me, reached over and gently touched my hand. “I am still upset, Mitch, but that does none of us any good. We need clear heads and clear hearts to survive. And as my head is so clear as to be almost transparent, we will do fine.”

“I don't believe that for a moment, Viv,” I said, “you have always been far from obvious. But you make me feel better just by being you. Thanks.”

“Who else could I ever be? Besides, Mitch,
mon chou,
if Deirdre really is pregnant, we should be happy. I shall be an aunt and isn't that a wonderful thing? Somehow Lily has never counted as a niece, coming, as she did, fully grown. But a baby,” she sighed and tilted her head, “a baby is different.”

“Let's not get ahead of the situation, Vivienne,” Sam cautioned. “We really know nothing certain about any of this; there are all sorts of tests that must be done first.”

“Oh, foo, Sam.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “If I choose to be happy, not even you and your deplorable bedside manner can stop me.”

The phone rang and I jumped, held my breath and picked it up.

“Yeah?”

“Hi, Mitch. Can I talk to my mother?”

“Hello, Lily. She's not here.”

“What? How can she not be there? It's past dawn. This isn't funny, Mitch. I don't care if she's busy. Just put her on.”

“Trust me, Lily, I'd love nothing better than to be able to do that. But she's not here. Someone, Steven DeRouchard we believe, has taken her. Away. We don't know where.”

“Kidnapped? Mom?” Lily paused and cleared her throat. “Someone must know where she is; maybe you should ask that Maggie Richards bitch. Or let me ask her.”

“Maggie is gone as well. And she's taken Chris with her.”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “Figures. We seem to be having a fire sale on missing persons these days. Victor is gone too, without a trace. What are you going to do?”

She wasn't going to take this well. “I don't have much of a choice, Lily. I'm going to have to go after Chris. We're worried about his safety and I don't think he understands just how unbalanced his mother is. I'm not sure any of us do.”

Another pause. “And Mom? What about her?” Her voice raised in anger and I held the phone away from my ear. “What the hell do you plan to do about her? Just let this bastard take her away?”

Vivienne pulled the phone away from me. “Listen to me, young lady,” she said, “we'll have none of this. We will find both Chris and your mother.” Lily's screaming stopped, the pitch of her voice returning to normal, and Vivienne listened intently. “Of course,
ma cher,
you may come along, I would expect nothing less of you.” Viv nodded. “And Claude as well. I will make all the arrangements. Just see that the two of you are here as quickly as possible following sundown. We'll drive to London and stay over to catch a flight the next night. Now here is Mitch again.”

She handed the phone to me. “Lily? It'll be okay, I promise. Can you and Claude drive one of the cars? Sam, Viv, and I will take the other one.”

“Yeah,” she said with a choked laugh, “I can manage that. We'll just have to watch out for Vivienne's cows on the way. See you tomorrow at dusk.”

I hung up the phone, shaking my head and giving a small snort. “Cows again. I can't believe it.”

“There were,” Vivienne's eyes laughed and she crossed her heart with a flourish, “so very, very many cows on the road. I swear.”

I shook my head then stretched and pushed my fingers through my hair. “Tomorrow night's going to be hectic. Let's try to get some sleep. You two take the bed, I'll take the couch.”

 

Sleep evaded me even after Viv and Sam quit whispering and slept. I could still scent Deirdre in the apartment. Could still smell her on my skin, regardless of the shower I'd taken. I replayed the events that'd happened since we arrived in Whitby and had to admit that everything Sam said made perfect sense. All the signs were there. Deirdre's vomiting, especially after the taking of blood, the weakness and the fever and the pain, the inability to change her form, the way she couldn't tolerate the extremely hot shower she'd always loved.

Yet, it made no sense. How could it be possible? I punched the couch pillow. Life had become exasperating in the past few years. And just because something wasn't possible, didn't make it untrue. My own existence and the fact that my son lived again proved that.

I swore under my breath and stared at the dying fire. Then I got up from the couch and sat down at the computer, calling up driving instructions from Whitby to London and printing out two copies. Then I did a search on the name Steven DeRouchard and found the transcript of the retraction given by Terri Hamilton on
RealLife Vampires
and a few references to the DeRouchard family funeral homes. There were no pictures of the man to be found; I'd once seen a photograph of him when he was a child, standing next to his brother and his father.

As I remembered, he'd been blond in that photo. That fact proved useless in identifying the man; even normal children's hair often darkened with age. As a man, an Other, he'd grow the body to match the soul. But whose soul? Who hated Deirdre this much to want to do this to her? My first thought had been Larry Martin, but since he'd died the same time Chris had, he was out of the running. I gave a grim chuckle while pulling up the information on the DeRouchard funeral homes. Too damn many dead people walking around these days and Larry'd already lived two lives. More than enough for a lunatic like him.

The DeRouchard funeral parlors seemed to be located in only two cities: New Orleans and New York City. No doubt the Others had similar setups all over the world. What better place than a mortuary for their murderous rites? The transfer of Chris occurred in New York City, but Maggie had chosen to go on to New Orleans from New York. Not that it made much difference. Finding a single person in either city was like finding a needle in a haystack. At least in New York I'd have the benefits of contacts in all the police departments. Certainly contrary enough, she probably avoided the city just for that reason.

I didn't like New Orleans; I'd been held prisoner there by Deirdre's daughter. And I'd faced the unthinkable monster of DeRouchard there. Victor, though, had eliminated him. Victor. I shook my head. And where had he gone? I'd never been convinced that there was anything wrong with him, mentally. All of the little poses of illness and insanity were the perfect cover for someone who'd always pulled the strings. I remembered Lily complaining that his mind had gone and how one night she'd come home and heard him talking to—

“Son of a bitch!”

Vivienne sat straight up in bed. “Mitch? What is it?”

“Max. Goddamn son of a bitch, I should have known all along. Who else could it be? Max Hunter is the soul occupying the body of Steven DeRouchard.”

“Max?”

“It has to be. There's no other answer. The timing seems right. I wonder . . .”

“What is it? Is there a problem?” Sam's voice sounded sleepy.

“Go back to sleep,
mon beau,
you need your rest.” She rose from the bed, affording me a quick glance of her silky white skin before she wrapped a blanket around herself and walked over to me. “Here,” she said, giving me a little push, “you go open another bottle of wine for us and let Vivienne do her magic on the computer. I was out of the country for the blessed event of Max's death. What date, do you know?”

I thought for a moment. “Deirdre would know.” I winced when I realized that probably wasn't true, by now she'd no doubt have lost all of her memories. “I don't recall the exact date. I was pretty badly beaten up and spent a lot of time in the hospital. Mid-December, I'd guess, seven years ago.” I heard her typing as I went to the kitchen and opened another bottle of wine.

“Voilà,”
she said quietly as I came back into the room. “It is quite easy when one knows where to look. Steven DeRouchard was born, amazingly enough, in the same time period. Now Sam would say,” she smiled, displaying her dimples, “that we haven't enough direct evidence to support this theory and that further testing is in order, but I have this feeling that you are right. I wish you weren't.” She took the glass of wine I offered her and drank it in one long swallow. “Max has never been a creature to be fooled with. I don't imagine his rebirth as an Other will have given him a better disposition or made him any easier to handle.”

“But why?”

“Eduard,” she said the name with a growl in her voice, “would have thought him useful, no doubt.”

“No, I mean why would Max go to all this trouble to take Deirdre? She killed him once; she'll do it again.”