Dead By Dusk (30 page)

“That's terrible!”

“Yes.”

“But . . . someone came in, got into the room where you kept the blood, stole it all, and got out—without being seen?” Drew said, somewhat incredulous.

“I'm afraid that's what happened,” the nurse told him.

Merc was speaking sternly, and if nothing else, he managed to get the rest of them to stay silent. Dr. Antinella spoke quietly and calmly in response to something that Merc said, and if anything, he looked very weary and disgusted.

“Our chief is saying,” the nurse explained to Drew, “that he will speak with everyone working here, one by one. And he wants the room closed off. He is calling the crime scene specialists from the next big town to come back. They were already here, you know, for quite some time, working the area where poor Maria Britto had been buried up in the hills.”

“I know,” Drew murmured. “Well, I hope they'll find some fingerprints, a shoe print . . . something that will help them. But, aren't supplies like that locked up?”

“That's why everyone is so upset. Yes, of course, they were locked up. Dr. Antinella has a key, the superintendent has a key, and the head nurse has a key. They all swear that their keys were in their possession at all times. But the room was not broken into. So . . . someone had to have used a key.” Despite the gravity of her words, she smiled suddenly. “My name is Antoinette, by the way.”

“Antoinette,” Drew said. “That's a beautiful name.”

She flashed him another smile, listening again, because Merc was talking. “He will use the superintendent's office and speak with everyone there. None of us is to leave the hospital.” She sighed. “And to happen today!”

“Why today in particular?” Drew asked.

“Why, they are burying Maria Britto today. It is such a sad occasion. And word is all over town that an arm was found last night, at the resort, on a man's doorstep. Everyone thinks it belongs to the missing actress. Now, this . . . everyone is edgy, and excited. And afraid,” she added softly. She turned back to him. “Well, it is a pleasure to know you. I'll be called soon enough. You must excuse me. I need to see to my patients. And that food is getting cold,” she finished, indicating the bag Drew carried.

He had come back so proud of getting the steak and spaghetti. The concept of “to go” was not really recognized here.

Now, the food was indeed getting cold, and his sense of things going right was definitely flying out the window. Strange, he'd finally met a friend. A lovely Italian woman. And everything around him was going right to hell.

Worry filled him deeply as well. He was anxious to get back to Doug.

“Antoinette, despite everything, it's a pleasure to know you, too,” he said. “It's all right if I go through, right? I brought my friend a steak.”

“Yes, yes, get the food to your friend. You're in the hospital now—they may not let you leave for a while yet,” she told him.

“That's no problem. I have all day.”

She gave him a little wave, and walked back toward the group. Franco, standing by his father's side, saw Drew, and nodded an acknowledgment. Drew nodded in turn, and lifted the bag of food in explanation, though he wasn't sure why. Franco nodded again.

Drew hurried through the reception area and down the hallway. As he walked, he patted his pocket, trying to make sure he still had his cell phone.

He had to call the others about this bizarre new development.

With one hand, he pulled out the cell as he headed along quickly, then entered Doug's room.

He started to dial Stephanie's phone number; it was the one he had actually memorized.

His fingers suddenly froze on the dial plate.

The bag of “to go” food fell from his hand and crashed on the floor as he stared into Doug's room.

“She's very upset,” Stephanie told Grant, referring to Reggie. “Think about it. She's off combing Europe for customers to get an area going. Then she calls back and hears everything that's happening, and, apparently, since a lot of this did seem to coincide, even Arturo tells her that there's talk about her being a sorceress. And as I said, all that is ridiculous—Reggie was not just ‘dug up.' She's been in my life, at least, for a very long time.”

“Where did she say she was?” Grant asked.

“Belgium.”

“Steph, don't get angry with me. I'm not the one who suggested that she was a witch,” Grant reminded her. They were seated at her dining room table.

There didn't seem to be enough coffee in the world that morning.

Not even espresso.

“We need to get over to the hospital,” Grant said.

“Should we see if Lucien and Jade are awake?” Stephanie asked him. “Although, it is just about one o'clock.” She hesitated. “Would he be . . . sleeping? Resting? Doing whatever vampires usually do in the afternoon?”

He stared back at her, his lips hinting at a rueful smile. “I don't know. I never knew a vampire before.” He gave his head a slight shake. “There was something about him . . .
is
something about him . . . but can any of this be true?”

Stephanie took his hands. “Grant, there's something out of the ordinary that's true here, and we both know it.”

“It's the most insane thing in the world—and it really scares me—but I do believe this guy. Either he's what he says he is, or he's the most sincere lunatic in the world. Come on, let's go and see how Doug is doing. We'll stop by Lucien's cottage and find out if he does sleep most of the day, and if not, if they're coming to the hospital with us.”

They walked the short distance to the cottage that had been assigned to Clay Barton. Jade opened the door. She had apparently been up for some time.

“Good morning—afternoon,” she told them. “Come on in.”

“Is he—sleeping?” Stephanie asked.

“He's been gone for hours,” Jade told them. “Something happened. I'm not sure what. He did one of those things where he kind of bolted awake . . . got really restless, and then went out. When he can explain what woke him so violently, he will. Anyway, we've all got to make sure we keep moving along here. I've been searching the Internet for information about the Norman presence here during the medieval ages, and trying to find out if there aren't any old texts somewhere that might help us. There's a library in town. I'm hoping to find a reference to a book that I might then locate.”

“Ah,” Grant murmured.

“We're dealing with an unknown, you see,” Jade explained.

“Doesn't Lucien have to . . . I don't know, rest by day, at least? Does he have to return to his—er—coffin?”

“We travel with native dirt,” she said. “And as for sleeping . . . he sleeps next to me,” she said softly.

Stephanie cleared her throat and said, “Grant had a really terrible nightmare last night.”

Grant flashed her a look, as if she were airing dirty laundry before a comparative stranger.

“Grant! Maybe Liz—Jade—can help, or even learn something from you,” Stephanie pleaded.

Jade was looking at him with serious interest. “Do you remember the dream?”

“At first . . . at first, I could still smell the blood when I awoke. But it . . . it's fading now. What I remember is that I was riding, I was in full armor, and . . . it was terrible. There was a horrible slaughter. People, animals . . . the dead everywhere. And I knew . . .”

“You knew what?”

He shook his head. “I just knew that the situation was desperate. And that . . .”

“Grant! This could be important!” Jade said. “That what?”

“That heads had to be removed. That was the only way to kill—François. And it was also the only way to kill the devil dogs. And Valeria.” He waved a hand in the air. “It might have all been a trick of the mind. You know, there's the dig, and the conversation we had . . . and the schism in my mind as I try to determine whether or not vampires can exist, and, if they do, if there's such a thing as a good vampire.”

Jade smiled. “It's a lot, isn't it? But your dream might have been more important than you know.”

“I've had it before,” he said. “But each time, it's more vivid.”

“That may be really important,” she told him. A silence came between them.

“We're heading for the hospital, to see about Doug,” Stephanie told her.

“Good idea. Make sure he's still wearing that cross.”

“What?” Stephanie said.

“We got a cross on him last night. Make sure he's still wearing it.”

“We—we took it off him. It seemed that the metal was bothering his throat,” Stephanie told her.

“I'd better come with you,” she said.

 

 

Drew rushed in.

A fierce struggle was ensuing—an elderly man with a huge knife was busy attacking Doug.

Doug was doing his best to defend himself, rolling, sliding, and then leaping as the man savagely struck at him.

“Hey!” Drew cried. “Get off of him!”

He charged the man.

The old man turned on him. Drew backed away, catching Doug's eye across the bed. The old man was crazy—and he was lethal.

“What the hell?” Drew said to Doug.

“The old geezer just came in and attacked me!” Doug shouted back.

The man began to speak to Drew in rapid Italian, his words earnest.

Drew shook his head, trying to indicate that he didn't understand. The man waved the knife. It appeared to be a butcher's knife. One slash from that, and . . .

“Now, sir, I can't let you chop up my friend,” Drew said, keeping his voice low and even. That's how you were supposed to talk to the crazed, right? They needed to get the knife away from the fellow.

Where was the hospital staff? If the cops were here, and they were looking into a blood theft, why the hell weren't they coming now? Surely, someone was hearing this commotion.

But then, maybe not. People were awaiting their turn to talk. They were all distracted.

All right, he had to handle it himself. He took a step toward the fellow. “Now, buddy, listen, I need you to give me the knife.”

The man took a step toward him then, the knife swinging.

“No! Dear God, what the hell . . . no, no, no! I don't have a weapon, see?” Drew said.

Doug was trying to get around the bed and make for the door, the exit. The Italian man might have been as old as God himself, but he was sharp as a tack. He lunged toward the foot of the bed, sending Drew back to the far corner of the room.

Drew looked wildly around himself. “Someone, help!” he shouted as loudly as he could. There was nothing.

He grabbed a bedpan, putting it in front of himself as a poor excuse for a shield.

He was quickly sorry that he did so. The old man bunched his slender muscles and started across the room with wild intent in his eyes.

“No!” Doug shrieked, coming forward.

The old man stopped and spun quickly, heading for Doug once again. He was nearly upon him when suddenly a figure burst into the room, making a flying tackle for the old fellow. He heard a shriek; the body that had flown in, catching the fellow's feet, bringing him down hard on the hospital bed, was Grant Peterson. Stephanie had let out the scream, and she and Liz were now standing in the doorway.

The old man twisted around, still fighting, slashing. Grant jumped back just in time, then lashed out with his leg. His foot connected with the old man's wrist, and at last, the knife went flying from his hand, slammed against the wall, and fell to the floor.

Doug made a dive for it.

“Whew!” Doug let out, doubling over, gripping his knees.

The old man just lay on the bed then. His head was twisted to the side. His eyes stared vacantly, glazed, across the room.

“Hey!” Grant said softly, approaching him. “Are you all right, is your wrist . . . can you move it?”

Liz hurried into the room, coming to the fellow's other side. She began to speak in Italian to him.

He didn't respond.

At last, the nurse, Antoinette, came to the door as well.

“What is going on here?” she demanded indignantly. “What have you done to him?” she cried, seeing the old man on the bed.

“Done to
him
!” Drew said indignantly. “He tried to kill Doug. Then he tried to kill me, and my friend Grant got here just in the nick of time to stop him!”

Antoinette stared at all of them. She walked in, pushing both Liz and Grant aside. She began to speak to the old man, smoothing back his white hair.

Suddenly, as if he were an infant, he began to cry, leaning against her. She got him up. Still casting warning glances over her shoulder, she led him out of the room.

“I hope you're getting him a straightjacket!” Drew yelled, shaking now that it all seemed to be over.

“He's harmless!” Antoinette called back.

“Harmless!” Doug looked at the butcher's knife he was holding. He stared across the room at Grant, who appeared to be just as baffled.

“Are you both all right?” Grant asked.

“Yeah, thanks to your rather timely arrival,” Drew said dryly. “Nice kick. A bit of Jackie Chan action, huh?”

“I was in a few kung fu movies,” Grant explained briefly. “Doug—let's get you back into bed. Maybe this could cause a major setback for you.”

“Are you kidding me? Back to bed—I've got to get the hell out of this loony bin!” Doug told him.

Grant didn't seem to hear. “Where are the doctors? Nurses, orderlies—anyone? What, is the staff around here nuts? What's going on? There's no one around? We heard you from the lobby!”

“Someone knocked over the blood bank this morning—the cops are talking to the staff,” Drew explained.

“What?” Liz demanded sharply.

“Whatever supplies of blood were left are gone. Stolen. I didn't get what happened, either,” Drew said, trying to make the story as short as possible.

“Please, while they're all tied up, can you get me the hell out of here before someone does kill me?” Doug pleaded.

“Doug, are you sure?” Stephanie asked anxiously.

“Please?” he repeated. “Come on, now. Before Attila-the-nurse comes back. Ask Drew—that guy nearly killed us!”

“But Doug . . . you were nearly dead!” Stephanie told him.

“I feel great,” he assured her.

“I think we should get him out of here,” Liz said.

“Yes, and quickly, please!” Doug urged.

 

 

Something had changed, suddenly and abruptly, in the night.

Lucien stood on the precipice, drawing pictures of the distant past in his mind.

This was where it had happened.

At that time, the outcropping of earth had gone much farther. That was the part that had broken cleanly from the cliff, tumbling downward in a rumble of the ground's power and fury.

If they wanted to find the remains of Conan de Burgh, they would be almost dead set below.

He shifted his gaze. There was a lot of activity in the camp, but around the sites where many of the men belonging to the ranks of both de Burgh and de Venue had fought and died, only a few workers were busy.

He closed his eyes, trying to see.

He felt the breeze, struggled to reach the plane where he could recall, and see with an ancient instinct and vision. For a moment, he could hear the clatter of armor, shouts and screams, the whinny of a horse, a howling sound . . . the world in his mind began to take shape out of the mist . . . he could see. Warriors with helmets and great shields, swords that glinted in the sun . . . swords, no longer glinting, for they were red with the blood of the fallen . . .

Then...

He lost it.

It was almost as if someone had stepped into his mind, and pulled a curtain.

He swore, and started the climb back down the cliff. Dusk was coming. It was important that he discover where the curtains were coming from, exactly what was happening here when the sun went down, here, where the core of it all existed, close, so close . . . just out of reach.

He needed to stay.

He couldn't stay.

Already, he sensed that there was trouble.

He had to get back.

But he would be going back with nothing! He still had no clues as to how to arrest the power that was different from his own.

He felt the wind again, and determined that he had to find some truth with which to fight.

 

 

Stephanie stayed behind when the group hurried through the lobby with Doug. She thanked God that he was all right, but it disturbed her that the old man who had attacked Doug was the same old man who had forced the cross on her the night before.

She felt around her neck, and remembered that she'd given the man's gift to Suzette. The old fellow was a jeweler.

It was unlikely he'd be making any sales that day.

She lagged behind the others, afraid that Grant would try to stop her if he knew that she wanted to stay behind, just for a few minutes. But though she thought it might not be a bad idea to get Doug out of the hospital now that he seemed to be so well, she couldn't forget the work that Dr. Antinella had done to save him. He had to be thanked.

She also wanted to do her best to talk to Merc and find out what he thought about the gentleman attacking Doug.

Did people around here really believe that legend? Why not—she was believing it! But she had some reason to do so now, while the average townsman or woman . . .

Lucretia Britto had severed her daughter's head.

This fellow had come to the room to decapitate Doug!

Thankfully, the hospital was small. It wasn't terribly difficult to find the corridor that led to the staff offices, and since there weren't many, she found the door with the plaque reading “Dr. Antinella” very easily.