Hell's Belle (12 page)

After a small shake of my head, I opened them again. My heart raced as my adrenaline surged.

"Oh crap," I blurted before I could stop myself. Max's head snapped around, following my gaze.

Marcello. He was standing on top of a rock in the middle of the water. He looked like he was calling the fury of the ocean by the movements of his arms. The waves became more violent, and a huge one came barreling towards their window. Marcello's shrill laughter pierced the air.

"He can't do that!" While he could influence the weather, he certainly could not call upon the sea to do his bidding.

I wasn't sure if I said that out loud. I couldn't hear anything over the crush of the waves.

My vampire instincts took over. Bounding over the table, I grabbed Max by the collar, pulling him with me as I bolted to the front of the restaurant. A massive wave crashed through the window, shattering glass everywhere. I threw us both down on the floor, behind the wall of the coatroom to block the wave's impact. Water rushed over us and then receded quickly.

Spitting out seawater, I sat up and looked over to where we were sitting. The window was shattered. The table and chairs, along with the poor waiter, were swept out to sea, leaving a gaping void over the craggy rocks. I vaguely felt Max grab me from behind and drag me out of the restaurant as another wave came thundering towards us.

CHAPTER 17

Max hauled me like a sack of potatoes out of the Coast Guard House. He didn't put me down until we were well across the street, and at that point, he dumped me rather unceremoniously on my ass.

He stared at me. "What the fuck was that?"

I shook my head slightly. I was about a half of a second away from panicking. Marcello was out there somewhere, and he had some weird control over the weather and the ocean.

I had no idea how much Max had seen. Marcello definitely saw me with Max. The expression on his face made it completely clear how much he would enjoy killing both of us.

I stood up and started pacing around the parking lot, oblivious to the fact that it was brutally cold and I was drenched in seawater. My purse. My leather jacket. Those were swept out to sea. Shit. I loved that leather jacket. How was I going to replace that leather jacket? Dr. O, I had to call Dr, O. He'd know what to do. I reached for my phone.

"CRAP!" I shouted. It was in my purse.

Max grabbed me by the arms and spun me to face him.

"I need to know you are alright." His voice was calm but forceful. "I have to go back and see if I can...help."

I gripped his arm for a second. My nails sunk into his flesh. Was it safe for him to go back in there? Sirens were approaching. First responders would be here soon. I nodded.

"Stay here!" he shouted over his shoulder as he ran back into the restaurant.

The wind picked up. There was a flash of lightening, followed by a huge crack. Then, someone tackled me from behind, sending me five feet forward, and then pushing me face-down into the pavement. I felt my skin tear away from my palms and heard the fabric on my shirt rip, as the road burned white hot into my flesh.

I pushed up and flung the weight off of me. I jumped to my feet and turned, ready to strike, and came face to face with Frankie.

I lashed out at him. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life," he pointed behind him. A tree branch the size of a small car was laying where I had been standing.

"You. You?” I asked, shock still coursing through me. “Wait. Were you
following
me?"

"Nina, Love, this is not the time to discuss it." Frankie looked up as another crack of lightening hit the light pole just across the street from us, plunging the area into total darkness, save the pink and orange sparks arcing up from the transformer.

"Nina!" Frankie was yelling now, to be heard over the surf that began crashing again, rising over the sea wall. "You need to do something!"

"Me? What can I do? Marcello's out on some rock in the middle of the
friggin’ ocean, Frankie!" I could see the first responders running into the Coast Guard House. I didn't think the building would hold up if another wave hit.

"I need you to trust me on this one, Nina!" Frankie yelled above the howl of the wind as its strength pulled me several feet towards the sea wall. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "What you did to me tonight, you need to do it to him right now!"

"What are you talking about?" I gripped my arm around Frankie's waist to keep from blowing back towards the water again. Sleet was now driving down from the sky, piercing into my skin like a thousand sharp points of needles.

"Please, Nina! Trust me!" Frankie cupped my face and looked deeply into my eyes. "Trust yourself."

I broke away from him and sank to my knees. I thought of Max and all the other first responders still in the building, it teetering on the edge of the sea. Fear welled up inside me. I closed my eyes and saw Marcello, standing on that rock, calling up another wave.

"Don't you dare," I growled.

Marcello just laughed, as though he could hear and see me, and then released more of the ocean's fury. Freezing cold seawater crashed down on me, chocking me, pulling me back with it. I felt Frankie's strong grip on my ankle, keeping me with him. He anchored onto a cement post with his other arm. As the water receded, I heard voices rise in panic from the restaurant.

In my mind's eye, I witnessed Marcello's triumph. I could hear his laughter. I could taste his elation. And now I was pissed.

"Ventus pulsus eradico," I began chanting. "Ventus pulsus eradico...." I had no idea what I was doing, or why I was doing it, but I couldn't stop.

The wind began to whip again, and the trees around us cracked. I let out a guttural scream that normally would have scared the hell out of me. I felt like I was locked in a trance. I screamed again, and the gulls mimicked my cries. A cacophony of screams blew over the ocean.

That wiped Marcello's smug expression right off his face. It was his turn to be shocked, maybe even scared. The water began to churn and swell around him. This time I was the one harnessing the power of the ocean. He raised his hands over his ears trying to block out my rage. My primal screams echoed again and again, the water frothing as I conjured a 30-foot swell. Marcello spun off the rock and disappeared in the wind. I dropped the wave with a crash and slumped into myself.

The water receded back into the ocean. Everything was suddenly, inexplicably, still.

After a minute, I opened my eyes and saw Max running towards me. He stopped dead several feet away, staring at me. He looked horrified.

Still kneeling on the pavement, I quickly glanced around. Frankie was gone.

"You should take me home now," I said softly. I was freezing, soaking wet and exhausted. I didn't know if I could stand on my own and used the side of a car to pull myself to my feet. I leaned against it, shaking. 

"Yeah." Max walked slowly towards me. "That's probably a good idea."

Max steadied me and we moved towards his car. He dropped my arm when he saw I could stand on my own. The silence between us grew as ice cold as my skin. I turned the events of the past few minutes over and over again in my mind. I had no idea how to explain to Max what had happened. Would he believe it was a couple of rogue waves?

I caught him looking at me, a strange mix of curiosity, confusion and disgust. I suspected that the rogue wave idea wasn't going to fly.

It was only until we were in the relative safety of the car, with the heat blasting, that Max let loose.

"I’m
gonna ask you again: what the fuck was that?" He didn't look scared anymore. He looked pissed. Very pissed.

I didn't know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut. The tires screeched as Max pulled out of the lot. I closed my eyes, and almost wished I
was still locked in battle with Marcello out on that rock. Somehow that fight felt easier than the one we were about to have.

Max was weaving in and out of traffic, one eye on the road, the other on the rear view mirror. I was checking my
side mirror every once in a while too. I wondered if we were being followed, either by Frankie or Marcello.

"You realize we are running away from a crime scene," he spat, breaking the silence, his voice angry.

I wasn't ready to agree that it was a crime scene just yet.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Max asked through gritted teeth. "Or do you want me to believe that I lost my mind?"

I breathed in sharply. Guess he saw what I didn't want him to see. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers into my temples.

"Do you want to tell me who that guy was? And what the hell you were screeching out there?"

My silence sent Max into conversation overdrive.

             
"Are you going to tell me that was Pig Latin?" he shouted. "You know there are these bizarre murders happening all over this town, and you refuse to tell me what the fuck that weirdo scenario was back there?" Max was on a roll now. He came face to face with an inexplicable tragedy, and simply walked away. I think his talking, angry as it was, kept him from going into shock. "Makes me think that all these bizarre things are linked. And maybe
you
have something to do with them."

More silence. I couldn't answer him. I didn't know what to say.

"Do you?" Max challenged me.

I let out a deep breath. "I am sorry Max, but this is complicated."

I watched his strong jaw tighten. I knew it wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. But there was no way he'd understand the truth. And, right now, there was no way I could explain it. I had no idea what happened out there. Marcello was not capable of conjuring a natural disaster. And I should never have been able to stop him like that.

"You know what, Nina?" he spat out at me. "FUCK YOU!"

I cringed. This was not going well.

"Max," I responded evenly. "It's better if you leave this alone. Please. It's my fault. I should have never come with you tonight. I think it's best if we just stop this."

"Maybe it's a little too late for that," he said through his teeth, still gritted tightly.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. What if it was too late? Would Marcello just ignore him now? If Marcello was behind these murders, then Max was hunting him as well. Of course, hunting him for entirely different reasons, but hunting all the same.

And what would Max do if he caught Marcello? Handcuff him and read him his rights? Do I warn him to bring some Holy Water and a wooden stake to work along with his gun and bulletproof vest?

Frayed nerves and a mental image of Max, Vampire Hunter -- complete with a chain of garlic around his neck -- sent me into a fit of inappropriate giggles. I tried to suppress them with a coughing fit.

Max looked at me sideways. He pulled off at the next exit, and stopped at the side of a quiet road.

He took a breath. "Nina," he said, his voice was calm, but I could hear his heart racing under his shirt and he refused to look at me. "No matter what you tell me, I will believe you."

His sympathy was forced, hoping to coax an explanation out of me.

I felt my eyes well up. What could I possibly tell him? I closed my eyes, shook my head and willed the tears away.

Max slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

I jumped. 

"Damn it," he said in frustration. "I think I deserve an explanation. Don't you?"

I bit my lip. I wanted to tell him. I had carried around this secret my entire life, with the safety of Dr. O's protective circle being the only companionship I knew. I longed to tell him everything. The family I was born into, how I was orphaned, where Babe sent me to live and why. But it was such an extraordinary tale that he'd probably drive me to the nearest mental hospital and have me committed.

Vampires, Druids, demons, ghosts. These were the stuff of horror films and best-selling books. They were built up in modern fairy tales. They were mythical creatures that were given Hollywood sex appeal, a mystique that made them even more dangerous. When vampires are romanticized heroes, a blood-thirsty and vile beast like Marcello was exceedingly treacherous.

I looked at Max. He didn't look angry. He looked hurt. "Please, Max," I whispered, reaching for his arm. "I need you to trust me on this."

He pushed my hand away. Shaking his head, his face shifted to pure anger. Why should he trust me anyway? I only almost got him swept out to sea.

CHAPTER 18

I felt lightheaded and wobbly, as if I were drunk on champagne, when I stepped out of Max's Suburban. I wasn't sure if it was from his NASCAR-inspired driving or the impromptu tsunami Marcello and I blew through the Coast Guard House that left me so unsteady. Probably both.

Since I spent the ride with my eyes closed, I needed a minute for my sight to adjust (not to mention my legs) to the unfamiliar surroundings. We were in a parking garage. As I stumbled behind Max, blindly following him to the exit, I felt a weak surge of energy grow stronger with each step. I came to a dead stop when I realized that we were in the parking garage of the Biltmore.

Max, aware that my staggering had abruptly stopped, turned to look at me finally. His exasperated expression softened only a little as he took in my shivering, wet-dog appearance.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly. He was still pissed.

I squinted my eyes at him and gritted my teeth, mostly to keep them from chattering. "You can just take me home."

"I'll take you home, but I have to pick up a few things first."

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and raised my brows. It was all I could do to not stomp my foot like a petulant child. He didn't budge.

I weighed my options. I could walk home, but I was still soaked through with seawater, it was cold, and it was one long-ass walk. I could wait right where I was, but being alone in desolate parking garages at night Downcity was never a good idea. Or I could deal with the psychic onslaught that was exploding out of the hotel.

I sighed and willed myself forward, bracing myself against the
creeptastic energy that was about to overpower me.

Max yanked open the door to the back lobby, and the rush of energy almost knocked me on my ass. I hesitated. Holding my breath I stepped over the threshold. Immediately, I heard whispers of spirits desperate to communicate. I was trying to shut down my mind, but it wasn't going to be easy.

We made it into the lobby proper, and a grand staircase leading up to the broken glass elevator, once the crown jewel of a magnificent hotel, loomed in front of me. The polished brass was tarnished green. The ghost of a bride, her white wedding dress soaked in sticky red blood, repeatedly tossed herself down the stairs.

I looked over at Max. He charged up the stairs, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Apparently, I was the only one getting an eyeful. I slowly stepped past the unlucky bride. She halted her repeated tumble and reached a
blood-stained hand out to me. She opened her mouth, her teeth cracked and broken like a delicate porcelain teacup that dropped to the floor. An otherworldly moan escaped from her mouth, then her lips fought to form the word "help."

I shook my head at her and whispered, "I can't." A mournful-looking bellboy with a gunshot hole in the center of his forehead pushed her from behind. Down the stairs she went.

His smile at me was devoid of humor. The fashion of his bellboy outfit was clearly from the opening days of the hotel. He had dark hair and olive skin. He was handsome once. I guessed he was around sixteen when he was killed.

"The Mayor would like to see you in his office," the bellboy said. His accent was thick. I placed it as Italian, which made sense. Providence experienced an influx of Italian immigrants in the 1920s.

"What Mayor?" I demanded in a hushed tone.

He turned and walked back up the stairs. His brains leaked out from under his cap. The bullet that killed him must have exploded. I stared at him, horrified. This seeing dead people thing was no fun at all.

A cold hand grabbed my elbow and turned me around. I did a double take as I faced Max. His tanned skin took on a greenish cast. His eyes sank into their sockets. He looked thinner, almost gaunt.

"Why are you talking to yourself?" he asked, steering me by my elbow up the stairs and towards a floor of guest rooms.

I tried to wrench my arm out of his grip, which was unnaturally strong. For a split second I wondered if I could take him down if I needed to. "Where are you taking me?"

Damn it, he was possessed. The hotel was feeding energy to the ghost that captured him, making him stronger. I wondered if it was also killing Max.

"We’re going up to my room for a minute,” he said in an odd monotone. “I told you before that I have to pick up some things before we go."

I dug in my heels. "I will not go any further," I growled softly, hoping to keep the ghoulish things from overhearing.

Max raised his hand and tried to knock a blow to my face. My vampire reflexes kicked in, and I blocked him quickly but not as easily as I hoped. His movements were stiff but strong. He was like a living zombie. Whatever possessed him was clearly in control. Max was unreachable. 

I twisted his arm around his back and, now behind him, sent a forceful knee into his kidneys so that he knew I meant business.

"We are walking out of here now!" I reached around him and snatched his cell phone from his pocket. No bars. Dammit.

I pushed Max back down the stairs, one more time past the suicide bride. A wisp of air rushed past me. The bellboy blocked us in the middle of the staircase.

"The mayor will see you now," he intoned.

"I'm busy." As much as I didn't like it, I walked through him with Max in front of me. A feeling of cold slime encased my body. It made a weird sucking noise as I pushed both Max and myself through his ethereal form.

Another rush of wind, and the bellboy was in front of me again. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting," he warned.

I had only made it down five steps.

"I'm a busy lady. He needs to make an appointment first," I said. I pushed through the cold slime, once again coming out the other end in a giant "thwack."

Another rush of air, but I was already down on the ground floor and rushing Max through the lobby. Frightened tourists flitted around nervously, eying the unsavory characters walking through the lobby in various states of mania or undress or both. A prostitute wearing a PVC latticework dress and not much else put on her best sexy face as I rushed past. It was Max's turn to dig in his heels, and I smacked right into him.

"Max..." she purred, slipping her arms around his neck.

She
knew
him? Oh man. I had to get him away from this hotel.

I shoved her backwards, and her eyes flashed red. Her tongue lashed out towards me, green and forked. I barely dodged it.

The door to the street swung open with the arrival of a group of rowdy drunks singing what sounded like a dirty sea shanty. I caught Max by the scruff of his neck, and pushed him out the door. He went airborne and splat-landed face down on the sidewalk. I grabbed him by the middle and hauled him up while the drunks applauded. I shoved him head first into the back of a taxi.

"
Wickenden Street. Babe's on the Sunnyside," I barked at the driver and shoved my hands into Max's front pockets looking for cash. Max was pretty out of it; he looked half asleep. But the green tint was starting to slip away from his complexion and he was beginning to look at lot less gaunt.

He grabbed my hand as I stumbled through his pockets. "What are you doing?" He was groggy. "Where the hell are we?"

"I need money for the cab," I explained calmly as I felt gravity shift a bit. Great. The driver was taking us up College Hill. He thought we were loaded and was trying to scam a larger fare. I slammed on the plastic partition. "You took the long way, asshole!"

He just grinned and shrugged.

"Why are we in a cab?" Max groaned as he rubbed his head. He probably felt hung over and slightly carsick. Having your body possessed will do that to you. 

"How much do you remember?" I held my breath. If the possession affected his short-term memory, maybe I could get myself out of this.

"We were having dinner and then you...
You
!" His eyes almost bugged out his head.

So much for forgetting.
I exhaled slowly. "Right, well, you blacked out, and now we are in a cab."

"What did you do to me?" he demanded.

I was losing my patience. "I
saved
your ass, that's what I did."

"Where are you taking me?" he asked anxiously.

"Got it!" I huffed and sat back, a wad of cash in my hand. "We are going to Babe’s."

He looked startled for a second and reached down to his ankle. He pulled out a small gun from a holster, checked it and held it in his lap.

"You brought a
gun
on a
date
?" Well this was insulting.

His eyes narrowed. "Apparently, I need a gun around you."

Technically I could see where he was coming from. I did have a knife planted in the same general location. I didn't want to tell him the gun would do him no good.

"Put that thing away," I grumbled as the taxi pulled up in front of Babe's. I dug through Max's wad of cash looking for just enough to cover the fare and a crappy tip. I hated being scammed like a tourist.

I glanced at the digital clock in the taxi's dashboard. It was 11:48PM. The door to Babe's swung open, and a burst of Irish folk music preceded a group of college kids on their way out. Looked like Babe was trying to close up early anyway.

Max still looked pissed but followed me into the bar. The gun was now in his pocket, but his hand was still on it. We walked in on Babe and Dr. O doing a weird jig behind the kegs, while Alfonso laughed. They looked like they were having a ball. It was time for us to be the party poopers. Their eyes went wide with disbelief when they saw us. We still weren't completely dried out.

Babe reached for a remote to shut the music off, and she turned on the overhead lights. "We're closed!" she yelled. The few remaining customers stared in shock.

"It's not even midnight!" Someone protested.

Babe shot him a look. He slammed down the rest of his beer, and nodded at her. "Goodnight, ma'am."

We sure could clear a room. Within minutes, the place emptied. Only Alfonso remained in his corner, sipping a whiskey.

Babe turned the lock on the door, drew the shades, and looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I shrugged.

"What about him?" she nodded at Max, who was sitting at a table in the corner with Dr. O.

"Not sure." I shrugged again. "He's been staying at the Biltmore."

She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. "What happened?"

I shook my head. "Marcello.... Babe, I never saw anything like it. It was like he was controlling the ocean."

Babe shifted uncomfortably. I told her the story, about Marcello on the rocks, and the waves crashing into the restaurant, and about how I threw the waves back into him seemingly with just my mind. I went on to explain the bizarre stop at the Biltmore, and how Max had been possessed, and not for the first time. I shuddered, and she pulled out a bottle of the good tequila from under the bar and poured out two shots, one for each of us.

The tequila burned its way down my throat. The heat from the drink felt good. I was still cold from the mess of a night. And I seemed to shake less with the alcohol.

"Lochlan!" she called out over her shoulder. "It's time."

"Upstairs," she ordered.

I followed her, with Max and Dr. O behind us. Alfonso intercepted Max, offering to buy him a drink first. We trudged into the back room and up a small staircase to Babe's apartment above the bar.

Babe's apartment had the architectural flourishes typical of the historic buildings in the neighborhood. Built-ins and ornate woodwork, along with sloping large-planked wood floors made the place feel comfortably old.

The staircase from the bar led to the back door of the apartment, which opened to a hallway before the kitchen. A long, butcher-block counter ran along its length. It was filled with herbs under grow lights. The hallway led to her kitchen, with copper pots hanging from the rack overhead. Apart from a toaster oven and coffee maker, Babe's lit Veladoras was the only item on the kitchen counter. The kitchen led out to a combined dining and living room on one end, and two bedrooms on the other.

Babe motioned us into the living room, which was filled with rough-hewn wood furniture and other antiques, along with a big comfy couch piled high with Afghan blankets. I stood stiffly by the fireplace, aware that I was still pretty wet, as Dr. O kindled a fire.

Babe followed us in, carrying a clean tank top, black yoga pants and an enormous blue plaid flannel shirt. She handed them to me without a word, and I headed off to the bathroom to change.

The overhead light in the bathroom was unforgiving. I looked pale and tired. Dark circles surrounded my eyes and drips of mascara had dried along my cheeks. I pulled off my salt water-stiff clothes. The shirt was ruined, torn to shreds along the left shoulder and down the right side by my abdomen. I examined some fresh bruises, and then pulled on the soft cotton tank and yoga pants. The bruises would be gone by the morning, but the scar along my neck was still red and angry. I ran my finger on its edge and flinched. It still burned.