Deamhan (13 page)

Alexis walked past her and toward the door.

“Is this what I came here for?” Veronica’s question did little in aggravating Alexis.

“Who? Her?” There was no remorse in Alexis’ voice. Still grasping the cup in her hand, Alexis licked her lips. “She’s just another bipedal on the food chain. Like you.” She closed the door behind her.

Veronica walked to the couch, slowing sliding into the cushioned seats. She buried her head in her hands to rid the image of the woman from her mind. She thought of the pain of sharp incisions on her wrists and ankles every time that button was pressed, her wounds kept open and being kept alive for as long as Alexis wished.

Being a witness to another human’s suffering tampered with Veronica’s reason in accepting her invite. Feeling powerless to stop the woman’s pain and suffering—was this going to be the norm? Veronica mentally prepared herself for this. But why did the woman’s plight haunt her?

“Focus, Veronica,” she whispered to herself.

Her hands tottered slightly and she grabbed a grape from the glass bowl. The urge to run out of the room to the nearest police station flew from her thoughts. They wouldn’t believe her anyway.

She popped the grape in her mouth and took another from the bowl. She placed her hands underneath her legs to control her shaking. Her eyes scanned the room’s decorations: a huge flat screen television, cordless phones, a DVD player, computers, printers, a microwave, massive stereo equipment—all overshadowed by artifacts littering the walls.

An ancient double battle mace weapon, complete with two mace heads covered in long spikes laid next to a desktop computer. Near the flat screen television she saw a chain mail armor suspended above a long table covered in a red silk table cover. A warrior’s helmet sat in the middle, surrounded by small knives and miniature candle holders.

Hanging above the computer, Veronica saw an old oil painting of a man in chain mail armor and a helmet. His deep, dark brown eyes beamed at her. His brown hair fell gracefully over his shoulders. He sat in a chair decorated in jewels and small carved statues of dragons.

She stood up from the couch and slowly walked over to the glass window. Below, the club seemed alive with movement. The thick and insulated glass kept out the music, yet it thumped to every sound of bass.

“Veronica Austin.” A voice called out behind her. She turned around facing the man behind the voice. He shifted his fingers through his thick brown hair. He wore a black turtleneck shirt with black pants. The candlelight tricked Veronica’s eyes, and she observed his irises changing from brown to hazel. His prominent jaw line and his pointed nose completed his smooth and seemingly ageless face. Her eyes shifted to the portrait, then back to him. It was him but from a different time period.  The picture didn’t do his guise any justice.

“It’s a one way mirror,” the male announced. “Don’t worry. No one can see you up here.”

Veronica looked back at the mirror. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Depends,” the male replied. “I’m Lambert.” He bowed his head slightly. In his hand, he held a chalice similar to Alexis’. “That picture is of my other life. Not the best portrait of me, but I prize it nonetheless.” He walked over to the couch. “Are the grapes good?”

“They’re good. Thanks.”

“Well, I thought about getting more for my human guests.” He studied Veronica’s stiff and rigid posture. He lowered himself on the couch.

“I still remember what good grapes tasted like.” Lambert sniffed the bowl. “Not that it’d do me any good anyway, right?”

Veronica pulled out the invitation from her pocket. “Is this a trick?” She tossed it to him.

“No.” He caught the note and placed it in his pocket. “I sent it to you for a reason.”

“I’m here.” She walked over to the couch.

His face crinkled, and a wide smile appeared. “That you are.”

“So, you’re a vampire.”

“Yes.” Lambert crossed his legs. “I thought you were aware of this.”

“Alexis’ actions kinda reminded me.”

“Ahh, Alexis.” Lambert tilted his head to the ceiling. “My little darling. My soul mate. You know, she was my minion before I turned her. You do know what a minion is?”

She nodded, aware of the generic term. “Minions are human servants who are owned by a Deamhan. But you’re not a Deamhan, you’re a vampire.”

“True, but I couldn’t pass up the need for a minion of my own.”

What The Brotherhood knew of minions Sean passed onto Veronica. She knew them to be extremely dangerous but very useful to the Deamhan. Like servants, they did whatever their Deamhan owners wanted them to do. They ran errands, watched other minions, and kept tabs on researchers in the city. Some went as far as killing for their owners with the promise of being sired after years of loyal service. Their numbers increased in recent years due to the overwhelmingly popularization of the vampire in American culture. They jumped at the chance at becoming immortal, even if it meant killing other humans.

“The Dictum prohibited human servants unless it was necessary for the survival of the Deamhan.” Veronica recanted one of the rules in The Edict.

“I’m a vampire. I don’t care for their Dictum.” Lambert waved at her reply. “And apparently, they don’t either. Please sit.”

Veronica hesitantly lowered herself on the couch across from him.

“I love the term ‘minion.’ I wouldn’t call her that to her face; she’d stake me.” He smiled devilishly. “But enough about my darling; what about you, researcher?”

“I’m not a researcher. I’ve attempted to make that clear.”

“Not everyone thinks so. You successfully hid your thoughts from Remy. No human affiliated with The Brotherhood is able to do that. And you came here armed with a stake.”

 “It was for my own protection,” Veronica answered.

“What if you miss the heart of a Deamhan? Do you trust your aim researcher?”

“You know I don’t have to aim for their heart to incapacitate them,” Veronica replied. “But as for a vampire . . .”

He stared at her and tilted his head slightly. “Something you learned from that obstructive organization you claim you aren’t a part of?” He pushed the bowl of grapes toward her. “Did they teach you how to lie as well?”

“I’m not lying,” Veronica replied in a raised voice. He pushed her into a position that she didn’t want to be in. Instead of interviewing him, he was interrogating her.

“Yet you know things that most humans don’t know.” He stood to his feet and walked over to the black curtain.

Before he pulled the tassel back, Veronica said in a shaky voice, “P-please. . .”

He smiled innocently. “Please?”

“Do you have to do that now?”

“Do what?”

“Eat.”

He dropped the tassel. “No, I guess not.” He paced back to the couch. “I’m sorry about Alexis. Dealing with the Deamhan daily is making her cranky.” He gently sat on the couch. “As you know, they’re a rough bunch.”

“Like vampires.”

“Yes, like vampires.” Lambert huffed and smiled. “I own Dark Sepulcher. I cater to the Deamhan and vampires alike. It makes my venue more—how can I say—appreciated? I don’t discriminate. Everyone’s money is green to me, even yours.”

Veronica gazed into his empty and soulless eyes. “But I didn’t come here for that.”

“So why did you come here in the first place?”

Veronica opened her mouth, but she found herself speechless. This is it, she thought. Now or never. She didn’t lose sight of him and she watched him rub his hands together, feeling his rugged stare while he waited for her explanation.

“Curious about our kind?” he suggested.

“No, not even close.”

“You were probing my venue, Veronica,” he affirmed.

“I wasn’t.” She paused. Yes, I was, she thought briefly, before relaxing her thoughts then suddenly realized there was no need to hide them. Vampires were incapable of reading minds, but they were good at deciphering body language.

She continued. “This is the only place in Minneapolis that vampires and Deamhan socialize.”

“And the only place in Minneapolis that has two for ones for only a dollar and fifty cents.” His gaze didn’t quiver. “Oh c’mon, researcher, you have to do better than that.”

“Like I’ve said before, I’m not a researcher.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice rose, and he leaned forward. “And who sent you here?” His voice shook her and she slightly jumped back.

She gathered her wits. “I have a couple of questions to ask you, Lambert.”

“I ask the questions, researcher.”

“Would you stop calling me that? I’m not a researcher.” Her voice screeched. No way would she tell him about Sean and her father. They were irrelevant. But she was curious on how much he really knew about her.

He was losing his patience. His eyes narrowed and she caught a glimpse of his fangs that had now dropped.

Veronica took a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone important to me.”

“Well.” He leaned back. “That’s all you had to say.”

“I’m looking for my mother. Her name is Caroline Austin.”

“Are you?” He placed his arms on the back of the couch.

“My mother and my father worked for The Brotherhood, and the Minnesota Chapter that disbanded right after she disappeared.” She waited for his response, but he remained quiet. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to her.”

“Your parents were researchers?”

Veronica nodded.

“And you’re not.” He slowed his speech, emphasizing each word that came from his mouth.

 “I was raised in The Brotherhood because of my parents,” she said slowly. “But I didn’t follow in their footsteps. I’m here on my own.”

He smiled. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, my curious sleuth.” He clapped his hands, and Veronica jumped at his odd behavior. “You’re here to find your researcher mother.”

Veronica sighed in relief. She could move on from defending herself to learning about her mother’s disappearance, or so she thought.

“You say you’re not from The Brotherhood, you’re not a researcher, and we all know you’re not a minion.  This just makes you a nosy human who knows too much.”

“Look.” Veronica slammed her hands on the glass table. She immediately regretted her outburst, and she lifted her hands and stepped back. For the first time, Veronica wished vampires could read her thoughts. “Do you know anything about my mother?”

“Sassy.” He grinned. “I like it. Have another grape, my dear.” He pushed the bowl of grapes to her.

Her body grew stiff, and her hands were tightly curled into fists. “Do you know her?”

His eyes scanned her, again making her feel uncomfortable. “Your heartbeat is fast. I can smell your sweat. Are you angry?”

“What?” Dumbfounded, Veronica shook her head.

“Alexis was right. You smell so sweet, like cotton candy.” He smiled and this time his fangs showed. “Please, eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied. “Please, do you know anything?”

He exhaled. “As you might already know, The Brotherhood hasn’t been in Minneapolis for decades, so I doubt your mother is lurking around. If she was, it would’ve made vampire headlines a while ago.”

There was something unique about him, which Veronica couldn’t figure out. His face held a smirk only noticeable when she looked into his eyes. His witty and quick comments. He was a thinker, and from the prosperity of Dark Sepulcher, she surmised that he was also a good businessman. She couldn’t believe he didn’t know anything about her mother. The Deamhan and vampires knew all researchers in their cities. She suppressed her doubts and began to explain.

“I’m not here to interrupt your lifestyle. I don’t like coming to Dark Sepulcher as much as your customers don’t like seeing me here. I know this place was here when The Brotherhood was here. I also know that you’re the type of person who knows everything that occurs in Minneapolis.”

 “Never heard of her.” He smirked. “But I do remember when the researchers left.” He placed his right elbow on the edge of the couch, in a comfortable position to think. “You come here in need of answers . . . why don’t you ask The Brotherhood?”

His attack made Veronica a little hesitant to reply.

“They didn’t tell you, or they couldn’t tell you?” He moved his head to the left and rubbed his chin.

Veronica lowered her eyes to the floor. “They wouldn’t tell me.”

“Interesting.” Lambert nodded. “And your father?”

“We aren’t on speaking terms.”

 “Your father is still a member?”

“This is not about my father. This is about my mother.”

“Answer the damn question!” Lambert jumped to his feet in breakneck speed. He loomed over her, his eyes dilated and his mouth opened. Veronica couldn’t help notice that his sharp canines extended further than even the Ramanga twins.

She gripped the side of the couch, taken back. The couch’s springs dug into her rear. “Yes, yes, he’s still a member.”

He stepped back and closed his mouth. His fangs retreated and he straightened his shirt. “Excuse me. Sometimes I do get carried away. But a daughter at odds with her father. How cliché.” He drummed his fingers together. “And what would your father think of his daughter associating with vampires?”

“I think I made a mistake coming here.” Veronica disregarded his question. “It’s obvious you don’t know anything about my mother.” She stood up from the couch and turned to walk to the door when Lambert opened his mouth to speak.

“Your father is the president of the Midwest Division.” His words stopped Veronica in her tracks. She turned and watched him stand. She expected him to lash out, to bite her and suck every ounce of blood from her body just in time for Alexis to appear at the door and finish her off. Instead he stood, watching her. This revealed piece of information turned his smirk into a defined smile, and Veronica felt a need to defend herself.

 “I know how it sounds.”

He raised his hand to interrupt. “I do admire your courage to waltz into my venue and start digging for info, but I suggest you question your father about such matters.”  

“I can’t.”

“I suggest you find a way.”

“I wouldn’t be here if there was another way.”

“There is always another way.” Lambert approached her. “You don’t know the resources your father has at his disposal.” He threw his head back in an earsplitting laughter, which caught her off guard. “My dear, you really don’t know much, do you.”