Endless Night (3 page)

Chapter Four

As soon as the curtains closed, it seemed as though I was being hurried off to the farthest corner of the house. I was told it was my room for the weekend. I worried that I was being taken to a darkened room to be slaughtered and offered up to the vampire gods as sacrifice. Malcolm led the way up the big curved staircase and along the landing on the second floor. We walked past at least two doors on the way, all closed. Of course, I loved snooping. What could I say, I was curious. You know what they said about curiosity. Yeah, I hate cats.

I’d lost Tatum on the first floor, but Cyrus stayed by Malcolm’s side like a good little puppy. I was moderately thankful for that. I’d hate to see what would happen should Malcolm and I be left alone to our own devices.

Dragging my rolling case behind me, I followed the fiery haired vampire boy to a second set of stairs. Cyrus had so kindly carried my messenger bag, but I wished he hadn’t. All this chivalry was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.

Fuck that, let the bastard carry your bags. What’s it hurting aside from his masculinity?

The second set of stairs was much less extravagant than the first and led to a mundane hallway much narrower than the second floor. I assumed this was once where they hid the ‘help’. I was just about to voice a formal complaint until I heard Malcolm tell Cyrus his room was just across the hall from mine. The ever shrinking portion of my inner psyche that told me to stay away from Cyrus Atossa quickly became his biggest cheering section. The extremely naughty thoughts that entered my head then caused my face to turn cherry red and bead with sweat.

Malcolm opened the door to my room and I ducked in immediately hiding my red face as best I could. The room was more expansive than
I assumed it would be. It held an oversized, ornately decorated armoire and a four-poster bed complete with a chiffon canopy. Nothing I would have chosen for my bedroom at home, but definitely cool for a weekend in the den of Dracula.

I left my rolling case at the door and flopped down on my new bed. I could feel the familiar texture of a feather down comforter hidden under the pink and gold embroidered duvet. I took a quick count of pillows and came up with nine in total. I’d never seen that many pillows on a bed in my life. I rolled to my back and gazed up at the canopy. A matching shade of pink surrounded the four posts and draped from each all the way to the floor. A gas light sconce provided the only light in the room, but allowed me to see well enough to notice there was no outside light coming into the room. Thick maroon curtains hung to the floor on the wall opposite the door, but no sign of natural light peeked through.

“Where would you like your bag?” Cyrus asked cordially from the doorway.

“Anywhere is fine.” I left my spot on the bed and headed toward the curtains in search of added light.

My hands admired the velvet material of the drapes for a moment before I flung them back dramatically. No window lay beneath these curtains. Instead, a mirror as tall as me adorned the wall.

“Who hides a mirror behind a curtain? Who has a room with no window?” I was mostly talking to myself, “
Curiouser and curiouser.”

“This is only the beginning.” I met the green eyes that
stared a hole through me. He smiled and turned from me, leaving the room. Leaving me with only his ominous words.

“Do they rehearse this shit?” I thought aloud.

A monthly meeting of creepy bastards, perhaps. On the docket today, new ways to scare the shit out of people.
Jesus
.

I grabbed my smallest bag and pulled my phone from the side pocket. I figured I’d better call my mom;
she wasn’t overbearing or anything, only a normal mom with normal worries. Although, we didn’t talk much these days. I thought she was kind of in denial about the whole killing some people thing. It was the same selective denial she lived in when it came to Mike. One of the main reasons we didn’t talk much anymore. According to her, Mike and I were still going strong. All you needed was love she said. She obviously smoked herself stupid in the seventies.

I turned my phone on after more than six hours of being off and I had only one voicemail. How loved I
was! My shoulders slumped a little as I listened to the message.

“Ba…Dylan, hey, it’s me. Uh, Mike. Listen, we’ve got a situation churning out here I think you’d like to know about. Hey, uh,
gimme a call back as soon as you get this.” The line hung for a few seconds before the voicemail ended.

“Ugh, fuck.” Reluctantly, I called Mike’s number.

“This is Mike.” I cringed. I hated when he answered like that.

Geez
. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Hey. How’s your trip?” said Mr. Nonchalant.

“Just getting started. And actually kinda shitty so far. You had some news for me?” I wasn’t in the mood for Mike-shit.

“Yeah, you won’t believe what’s come across my desk.”

“Wait,” I said and closed my eyes, “if your next sentence has the words ‘dead girl’ in it, I’m hanging up.” I was lying. I’d only ever legitimately hung up on him five times in all the years I’d known him and each time was well more deserving than this.

“Ok. Um, well, you know Regina and the…one in Vegas,” he paused.

“Yeah…” I clenched my teeth.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck
.

“There’s more.”

“More? How many?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Lots.”

“Define
lots
,” I said sternly.

“Eight.”

“Eight? In your jurisdiction?” The pitch of my voice peeked at an awkward level. Saying I was shocked would be an understatement.

“No. Regina, Vegas, and six others. One just popped up in Texas three days ago. Same as Regina. Young, severed head, wooden object protruding from her chest, probable ties to the underground vampire community.” It sounded like he was reading off a teleprompter.

How in the fuck do eight staked and headless bitches just fall under the radar? Why hasn’t this hit the front pages yet? First vampires stalking the streets of Hollywood, now vampire hunters? In every generation there is one…

“When did the others come up? Regina was killed five months ago, how long have these other precincts been holding out?” My head was swimming in death, but I regained composure. Big tough Dylan Hart. Slept with her gun.
Has no friends. Yup, that was me.

“Apparently, they’ve been turning up all over the country since March. Dylan, Regina wasn’t the first. In fact, she was the third.” His voice was dramatic and I got the feeling he was aiming for a shock and awe reaction on my end.

“Fuck.” My heart sank a bit. I always assumed her death had something to do with Diego and Sam and the bloody mess they’d all gotten into. I knew there was a similar case in Las Vegas a few months later, but I figured it was some attempt to copy the original. “So, what are you doing about it?”

“I’m
gonna need to talk to your friends. They’ve got to have an idea about what’s going on. I wouldn’t doubt they knew about all these murders and haven’t said a word. Shit, maybe it’s some kind of punishment they’re handing out.” There he goes, blaming people for shit before he even knew the facts. Not unlike most cops, but more than a girlfriend could handle, hence being broken up.

“
Hm, yeah, blood in, blood out,” I said mindlessly. The hardening of my heart was a process that’s been hard at work for years.

“Funny. So, ideas?”

“Well, I’d start with her nearest and dearest, but oh wait, I killed them! I don’t know Mike, I’m on fucking vacation.” Ok, was on a research expedition, but it was vacation-like and I was using it to its fullest. As best as I could without the aid of my dipshit travel companion. He’d picked the absolute wrong time to solicit help from me.

“Yes, I know. You’re on vacation with the exact people I think are involved in this. Each of the girls was connected somehow to a Sanguinarian club or group, or whatever the fuck you call them.”

“House. It’s usually called a House. Don’t you watch TV?” I was suddenly very tired. Talking to Mike about dead girls made my head want to go to sleep for an awfully long time.

“
Humph.” He made a sucking sound with his teeth and I knew he was judging me. He was bad about that. “Do you have an idea how to go about getting information?”

I shrugged, “I guess I can…wait! No, no, no. No more dead girls. No more gore. No more death. Please,” I dropped my head into my free hand and held it tight.

“No more gore and death! Aren’t you about two hours away from entering Satan’s asshole? You don’t want this, well guess what baby, you got it. Right in your fucking lap. You hunted the devil down the first time around. This time you’re blindly jumping into the bullshit with both feet. And to make matters worse, you’re a four hour flight away. There’s nothing I can do if something happens.” His voice gave away his facial expression. I could picture him with his furrowed brow and tightly set jaw.

“That’s what this is all about? You’re all pissy pants because I hauled off and left the state. I’m not there at your beck and call, vampire kids in tow. I brought down the baddies last time sweetheart, this time you’re on your own! You and all those other idiot fucking cops need to do your
goddamn jobs before another girl turns up without her head.” More than anger, my voice held a viciousness intended to strike low and do damage.

“Dylan, you can be such a fucking bitch.” Expression change. Brows lifted in the center and eyes set on ‘puppy’. I knew that asshole way too damn well.

“That’s right baby, get over it.” I hung up. For the sixth time since I’d known him, I hung up on him.

My hands were a bit shaky and I needed a stiff one. A drink. A stiff drink.

More dead girls. Fucking wonderful. I felt for the poor little headless girls, really, but in the end, I still had my head.

Well, for now.

Chapter Five

We parked in a fairly nondescript parking lot centered between a few interesting buildings. The smell of the dank water of the canal hit me as soon as I stepped foot out of the rental car. It smelled like old tap water and fish.
I wrinkled up my nose in disgust before I realized that was probably offensive. Quickly, I ran my hand across my nose and glanced around at my company. Malcolm had seen every second of the little dance and scowled at my inconsiderate gesture. My defensive nature kicked in and I instantly threw on a stink eye to beat the band, just for him. I didn’t like Malcolm McTavish much to begin with and I was always looking for a reason to dislike him even more. Letting him know that, was just added pleasure.

A large crowd was gathering on the sidewalk on the perimeter of the parking lot. At first, I thought maybe someone had fainted or went into labor, but it was nothing as cool. When we got a little closer, I was able to see a small sign propped on the ground that told me the crowd was gathering to join up with the ghost tour. I’d never proclaimed myself as an avid horror fan, but I’ve always been intrigued by the paranormal. Probably one of the deep seeded reasons I chose to research the Vampire Massacres and allowed myself to get tangled up with the underground vamp scene in the first place. Down deep in my core, I liked the unknown and the thought of searching for haunts in New Orleans sounded downright amazing
, but I knew damn good and well not one of the folks in my party was about to ditch out on our evening with the plastic-fanged ones to hear some bumps in the night. My inner child pouted a bit at the thought of not getting what I wanted.

If I survive the
night, I’m ghost hunting tomorrow if it kills me.

“Where is it we’re going?” I whined, just a little.

“We’ll have quite a walk I’m afraid. I thought Tatum and yourself would like to see a few sights on our way to our first stop.” Malcolm, such a pompous ass, gave a look that was meant just for me. It said, what’s wrong fatty, can’t keep up?

Fucker
.

“Sugar tits, I’m not really wearing walking shoes here. It would’ve been nice to know we’d be headed out on a trek across the French Quarter.” I strutted ahead of him with fat chick determination.

“Ugh, I wish you two would just beat the shit out of each other and see who wins. But I like you both too damn much to let either of you get hurt,” Tatum’s voice called from just behind me.

Malcolm scoffed and I pictured him walking behind me with that stupid look he gets on his face like he’s so much better than everyone else. I immediately thought of Philippe, Diego, whatever, and the bloody mess I’d made of him. Poor little vampire boy. I smiled an awfully sinister smile when my mind placed Malcolm’s head on Philippe’s gory body. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, I frighten myself.

“Here,” Tatum flung a pair of thin roll-up flats over my shoulder and forced me to snap out of psycho-land.

“Thanks,” I said as I jerked the stupid shoes from her hand. It wasn’t nice, I know, but who really fucking cared in the end
.

“Give me your hand.” Cyrus stood next to me and I allowed him to hold my arm while I took my three inch heels off and replaced them with the lifesaving flats.

Normally, I would have protested, even in the most moderate sense, at permitting Cyrus to aid me in any way, but I was too stubborn to allow myself to look like more of a fool by falling on my face trying to change shoes all by my lonesome.

Honestly, I was much happier without the stupid heels on, but now I had to carry the damn things.

“Please,” Cyrus reached a long fingered hand out and gently took the shoes from my white-knuckled clutch.

I was so taken
back by his unsolicited chivalry, I let go of the shoes and stared at him in awe. His beautiful white smile spread across his face in a grin that was just as attractive as it was threatening. I’d always suspected Cyrus Atossa as the predator type, but I could never put my finger on why. The more time I spent with him, the more I realized someone this perfect had got to be either stupid or deadly; there was rarely a gray area in these types of situations. And I’d be damned, the boy wasn’t stupid.

I shook off my feeling of astonishment and walked on, reveling in my newfound comfort.

Walking the streets of the infamous French Quarter, was nothing I expected it to be. I’d always made the idiotic assumption it was a tourist trap filled with college students and drunk topless girls. Apparently, that was is exclusive to Mardi Gras and Tijuana. I was slightly disappointed. Not that I’d ever let the
girls
fly free in public, just a prime opportunity to throw stuff at ridiculous people.

Instead of tourists and too much booze, I found locals mixed with sight seers all mingled together in the hustle and bustle of the closing of the business day. The sun was setting and many shops were preparing to close for the night or were turning on lamps and lights to announce their presence to passersby. A few shops were decorated for Halloween, boasting hanging ghosts and macabre décor. Or maybe t
hat was their everyday décor. I didn’t know.

I passed a small shop with long strings of beads dangling in the doorway. The actual door had been propped open with an obviously heavy brass statue and the smell wafting from the opening was spicy and intriguing. The terrace from the floor above jutted out over the entry and held a wooden sign that read
‘Madam Azelie’ surrounded by a few scattered carvings of different symbols that intrigued me more than something so routine should. I supposed that was the intent.

A standing sign out front told me this was the place to get inexpensive psychic
readin’s
and
charms
. Without asking a soul in my group, I made the quick turn from the sidewalk through the beaded doorway. What could I say, I was a rebel. The wooden beads clanked together with a dull noise as I passed through them. The room was a perfect square, painted terracotta, and filled to the brim with as many candles and satchels and dolls as one tiny little room could hold. Odd mixes of Catholic symbols, such as crucifixes hung from the ceiling and statues of an odd looking Virgin Mary were surrounded by clay forms of naked humans and candles in the shape of the grim reaper. Wooden masks hung at various intervals on the packed walls and tufts of feathers poked from the tops of jars. It appeared to be a shop, but nothing was marked with a price.

Wafts of smoke puffed at odd intervals from an unseen source behind a counter covered in painted fabric. The distinct sound of a reco
rd player spat out unknown drumbeats from somewhere in the back. The muddling of sensory overload made my head swoon a bit with a feeling of disorientation.

A teeny tiny girl emerged from behind a colorful silk curtain in a far back corner. Her smile was welcoming but the aura she projected let me know she held some sort of power. I respected that and smiled back, allowing my suddenly fast heartbeat to slow to a more manageable pace.

“Aye, dawlin’. What bring you here?” Her voice was a hiss in her quasi-French accent you could rarely hear anywhere but in Louisiana.

“Actually, your nifty sign out front
.” I said, shifting on my feet uncomfortably.

The small woman stared at me through a thick caking of charcoal eye make-up. Her hair was flopped up to the crown of her head into a large poof of thick, dark dreadlocks
held together with a skinny strip of leather. The stark contrast of her nearly black hair against her butter--colored skin shocked me, but the sky blue eyes peering out at me from black smudges on her lids scared the shit out of me. Other than the eyes, she didn’t seem to be wearing any make-up. Two shiny silver rings adorned her nose and her ears were filled from the lobe up with oddly shaped rings and plugs. She had beautiful skin. Or it may have been the dim light brought from the kerosene lamps that hung from sconces on each wall. I wondered why Mr. Edison had skipped out on this particular establishment, but decided it was best not to ask.

“Your future you seek?” The girl slithered her body toward me like a snake on two legs. Her eyes looked me up and down as her head
shifted on her shoulders. From the neckline of her bohemian half-top, I could see a black-inked tattoo nestled neatly in her modest cleavage that reached up toward her neck. Simple, single lines creating some kind of symbol I wasn’t familiar with.

Her eyes were so intense it felt like they were crawling on my skin, feeling every inch of me with her stare. “A charm? For protection
m‘be?”

Her voice didn’t quite match her body. A near baritone, her voice slipped out with an accent I pegged as Cajun, or as close to it as I could recognize anyhow. I wasn’t really good at that sort of thing.

“Do I need protecting?” I asked, honestly concerned she knew something I didn’t. I’d heard of people like that. People that could sense death coming. I didn’t necessarily believe in that sort of thing, but if someone were to tell me I was going to die in a bus accident on a Friday, I’d likely not ride a bus on Fridays for a while. Just in case.

The little woman stepped back a step or two
. “Protection you have.” Her head snaked again and her eyes focused over my shoulder.

A second later, I heard the distinct sound of wooden beads softly clanking against each other.
I turned to find Tatum in the doorway. Cyrus stood behind her, nearly beside, but Malcolm peered over their shoulders from the street.
Pussy
.

“Hey, Dylan, let’s go,” Tatum said from the doorway.

“Yes, let’s,” Cyrus said from over her shoulder looking overly concerned.

I rolled my eyes and ignored them both. “My future.
I’d like you to read my future.” I turned to the girl and nodded my head confidently.

“Come, ‘
cher
,” the girl beckoned me with a crook of her finger.

I followed her behind a silk curtain and away from my friends. No one said a word. Not one of them tried to stop me. So, fuck ‘
em.

“A man…two men?” she asked over her shoulder before she even sat down.

“No men,” I said with a smirk.

“Yeah, heaps and heaps,” she smiled right back as the two of us sat across a small round table from each other, my back facing the entranceway that led to the public area of the store.

In the center of the table, sat a rectangular shaped object wrapped in a fancy silk fabric. The girl’s child-like hand reached across the table and took the silky block from the center. One hand was wrapped with a simple black rosary that dangled between her fingers. The cross that hung from it dragged along the table as she moved about. She unwrapped the hidden shape and revealed it to be a deck of cards. My moderate knowledge of the occult told me it was likely a set of tarot cards.

“Take ‘dis and hold it tight, yeah,” she handed me the stack of cards and pushed my hands toward my chest. “Make a thought of what you want or a question you need
answerin’. Focus. Then cut the deck two times.” The miniature girl sat across from me with the stillness of a marble statue. Her bare arms showed more tattoos trailing from her wrists up to her bare shoulders. Each one similar to the one on her chest, several kinds of symbols. Sort of like the ones I’d seen on her sign. More symbols dangled from gold wires and brown leather strips wrapped in her neatly matted dreads.

I followed her instructions and thought hard about my question. More likely, my mind raced with a good one. Over and over images of Cyrus’s beautiful green eyes and Mike’s adorable ass came through my thoughts. I forced myself to concentrate on one thing, where is my life going? I took a deep breath in and slowly let it out through pursed lips.

“Cut twice and hand it back,” she said through the momentary silence as if she knew just when my mind had been made up.

Without further words, the girl took the deck and began dealing them across the table in an intricate pattern, a cross dragging along the silk table covering. One on top of the other, then to the side, to the north and the south, then at random in a straight line. The cards depicted images in crude thick line drawings and paint; a woman sitting atop a throne, a man holding a bunch of sticks, a child on a horse, a man stepping off the edge of a cliff.
I watched with intense eyes, hoping to decipher what was coming across the cards. I had nothing. Well, unless I was going to become a queen and order men to build me things and leap from cliff edges. No, nothing.

“
How the hell is this supposed to tell me my future?” I said, mostly to myself. In fact, I really hadn’t expected to say it out loud.

“Not your future, ‘
cher
, your path. A path can be changed. The future is loosely defined,” she spoke without looking up from the cards.

“You don’t believe in fate? Destiny and all that?” I asked a bit too smugly.

The girl let out a petite scoff, “Ah, fate. You said future. Fate comes as it wills. Nothin’ moves fate.” Her eyes moved over each card, reading them, as far as I could tell. “From the city of angels I see,” she said and moved on without waiting for my response. “You seen death.” Again, a statement not a question. “On your hands, blood,” a slender finger lifted from the card and waved in the air in front of my face. “Tsk, Tsk, Tsk, naughty girl.”