In the Blood (12 page)

The limo slid into the underground parking garage, depositing its riders before an
old-fashioned elevator shaft secured by sliding metal gates. The driver spoke into a
hand-mike attached to the radio, and the elevator car descended into view.

Sonja Blue stepped out of the limo, signaling for Palmer to follow. The elevator door
opened and the protective gates folded back. The elevator operator, an old man in
an ill-fitting uniform, gestured for them to enter. The interior of the car smelled of
old leather and cigars.

Minutes later the car halted at the penthouse. The doors opened to reveal the
hulking figure of an ogre blocking the way.

The ogre's massive jaw jutted forward, flaring his apelike nostrils. Palmer
recognized him; the last time he'd seen him, he was chomping away on Renfield's
left leg like a drumstick.

Palmer rolled his eyes. "I told you this was a bad idea."

The ogre's lips peeled back in a rictus grin, revealing teeth better suited for a shark's
mouth.

"Keif! Heel! Heel, damn you!"

The ogre moved aside, permitting a narrow-shouldered man in a nondescript suit
and tortoiseshell spectacles, a clipboard clutched to his chest, to step forward.

"I'm Doctor Pangloss's assistant. He's in the gymnasium right now. If you'd like to
wait..."

"I'd like to see him. Now."

The assistant scowled at his clipboard. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

Sonja Blue stepped forward, pushing her face into his.
"Now. "

The assistant's pale face grew even pastier. "Permit me to show you the way."

The gymnasium was larger than most of the apartments Palmer had lived in.

Parallel bars and other acrobatic equipment were scattered about, while a state-of-the-art Nautilus machine crouched in one corner like a chromium spider. But what
held their attention were the two men, dressed in the mesh faceguards and starched
white tunics of professional fencers, dueling with sabers in the middle of the room.

As they watched, one of the duelists drove his weapon through his opponent's chest,
neatly skewering the tunic's red heart. The wounded fencer, still clutching his saber,
staggered backward, staring at the length of cold steel jutting from his breastbone.

A dry chuckle emerged from inside the victor's visor as he turned to leave.

The moment his foe's back was turned, the wounded swordsman swung his blade,
neatly decapitating his adversary in midstride. The head, still encased in the
protective face guard, bounced a couple of times before rolling to a stop near Sonja's
right foot.

Pangloss removed his own visor and tossed it aside, motioning for his assistant to
pull the saber free of his chest. For the first time Palmer was able to see his erstwhile

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employer's eyes. They were the color of garnets, bisected by a narrow, reptilian
pupil.

"I'm glad that's over and done with! What a bore! Always going on about those
scars he got at Heidelberg. Why, I remember when Heidelberg was no more than a
wide spot in the road!" He winced as the sword was removed. Blood the color and
consistency of transmission fluid spurted briefly from the wound. "Ah! That's much
better-it was starting to itch."

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Doctor?"

"That will be all, Renfield. I will see to our guest myself."

"Very good, sir. I'll have Keif dispose of Herr Gruenwald."

Palmer watched the pinch-faced young man exit the room, then swung to face
Pangloss. "You called him Renfield!"

"What of it?" replied the vampire as he unfastened the buckles of his tunic.

"Renfield's dead! I saw him die!"

Pangloss sighed and his pupils flexed. "My dear Mr. Palmer, the world is full of
renfields! Just like it's full of letter openers and paper clips. You don't christen each
and every paper clip you use with its own name, do you? The operative our
charming Ms. Blue terminated was one of my renfields. Just as you are one of hers."

Palmer felt his face color. "Hold it, buddy, I don't like what you're implying-!"

Sonja raised her hand for silence. "Stop baiting him, Pangloss. You lost out. You
should have known something like that would happen when you sent a loose cannon
to twist him."

"I prefer the term 'reprogram.' It sounds so much more up to date. Don't you
agree?"

Sonja snorted and folded her arms across her chest. "I didn't come here to play
word games,
Herr Doktor. "

Pangloss clucked his tongue in disapproval. "The years have not improved your
etiquette, my dear. You're just as blunt as ever. I guess that's what comes of being
American." He shrugged free of the bloodstained tunic, revealing a hairless chest as
pale as milk and covered with the faint traces of hundreds of crisscrossing scars.

The newest wound, the one piercing his heart, was already puckering into pink scar
tissue. Palmer thought the vampire's exposed torso looked like a Braille road map.

Without realizing it, he touched his own chest, tracing his near-fatal flaw. He
wondered for a moment if Sonja's flesh was equally scarred, then hastily pushed the
thought aside.

Pangloss strode across the room and removed a green silk dressing gown from a peg
near the door. "You still cling to certain human conceits, such as the ludicrous idea
that time is valuable. You're far too impatient, my dear! When will you realize that
time is the one thing you have plenty of? Then again, I forget how young you are.

You are indeed a prodigy, my dear. But, in many ways, you are a backward child.

Come, let us retire to more amenable surroundings."

As they left the gymnasium, Palmer glanced over his shoulder and saw the ogre,
Keif, enter from another door. As he watched, the ogre picked up the severed head
of the ill-fated Herr Gruenwald from its resting place on the floor. The ogre shucked
the head free of the fencing mask and grinned, revealing hideous teeth, and lifted

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the dead man's skull to its mouth. Palmer looked away, but he could still hear. It
sounded just like someone biting into a big, crisp apple.

Marble art deco nymphs flanked the hearth while a panther carved from a single
piece of obsidian crouched on the mantelpiece. There was a fire burning behind the
ornate iron screen, but Palmer couldn't feel it. Perhaps it was just the notorious San
Francisco Bay damp getting to him, but he doubted it.

Pangloss stood at the picture window, his back to his guests. The fog was heavy,
obscuring what little view was available at two in the morning. The swirling gray
mist reminded Palmer of the tobacco demons he'd seen earlier, so he returned his
gaze to the fireplace.

"You said you know where Morgan is," Sonja said.

Pangloss glanced back over his shoulder. "I do."

"Well?"

"I would rather speak to you in private. Shall we retire to the patio?" Pangloss
gestured to the sliding glass door that opened onto a rooftop garden.

Sonja glanced at Palmer, then nodded her assent. She followed the elder vampire
onto the fog-enshrouded terrace. The sea air was sharp in her nostrils, reminding
her of blood. The Other's voice stirred inside her head, admonishing her for having
subsisted for so long on nothing but bottled plasma. She tried to ignore it; this was
neither the time nor the place for the Other's yammering to put her off guard.

Pangloss was dangerous. She'd learned that the hard way over a decade ago.

Pangloss stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring into the fog bank.

"You've changed, my dear. Matured. I noticed it the moment I laid eyes on you.

You're not as angry as you used to be."

"Me used to be angry young man, me hidin' me head in the sand."

"Beg pardon?"

"Let's just say I've discovered how to work within the system since the last time we
met. I've learned to... focus myself. Now, about Morgan."

Pangloss turned to face her, and for a brief moment she was looking at an
unwrapped mummy with red coals banked deep in its empty orbits. The vampire
reached into the voluminous pockets of its dressing gown and retrieved an ivory
cigarette holder with dry twig fingers. The first time she'd glimpsed Pangloss's true
self she'd come close to screaming. But now, fifteen years later, his desiccated
appearance seemed almost normal.

"Ah, yes... Morgan. It always comes back to Morgan, doesn't it?" His voice was
melancholy. "He was my greatest mistake, just as you are his. However, in my case I
created him with full knowledge of what I was doing. Or so I thought." Pangloss
frowned and his features were once more those of a handsome middle-aged man. "It
can be lonely for beings such as you and I. I'm certain you've discovered this for
yourself by now. Alliances with humans are, by their very nature, destined to be
brief.

"Speaking of which, I congratulate you on claiming Palmer as your renfield. He's
much better spoken than that piece of trash you picked up in London. Tell me, does
he still imagine himself the captain of his own will?"

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"That's none of your damn business!"

Pangloss held up a hand in supplication. "You're quite right, my dear! That was
rude of me! Now, where was I? When I was younger-younger than I am now-I
longed for companionship. At the time, I fancied myself quite ancient-I was seven or
eight hundred years old, which means it must have been either the eleventh or
twelfth century. I was the same age as Morgan is now, if that means anything.

"I had grown bored and wished to have an equal as a companion. Since I was forced
to recruit from serfs and peasants, with the occasional yeoman thrown in, the basic
templates were far from the first quality. Most of my broodlings were unsuited for
any intellectual pursuits beyond hunting down their next meal. Then I met Morgan.

"At that point, I was working for the Church as a gelder. The choirmasters sent
their most promising sopranos to me for alteration into castrati. I was renowned for
having a low mortality rate, at least by the standards of the day. It was a good cover,
allowing me access to the Byzantine jealousies and infighting created when human
sexuality is subverted. I fed well at the Vatican's expense for the better part of
twenty years. But Morgan's arrival changed all that.

"He was only twelve when I first saw him, but I knew I had found what I had been
searching for. He was the fifth son of a nobleman and had been forced into joining
the Church. The original intention was for him to become a priest, but his excellent
singing voice had drawn the attention of the choirmaster. Instead of castrating the
boy, I took him with me when I abandoned my identity.

"It was the closest I had come to experiencing genuine passion since my
resurrection.

"Morgan accepted me for what I was. His intellect was astounding, and he proved
himself an apt pupil. We traveled Europe in the guise of uncle and nephew for
several years. He longed to be transfigured, but I withheld my benediction until I
was certain he was seasoned enough to survive the change intact. When he was
thirty, I remade him in my image.

"My faith in his innate superiority was justified. Within ten years of his
resurrection, Morgan had evolved beyond the crude revenant stage. I was proud of
him! For two centuries he was my constant companion. I was his broodmaster, but I
never abused my status. I allowed him far more liberty than I've granted any of my
by-blows, before or since. In the end it cost me dearly.

"Morgan turned against me. I'd underestimated the strength of his will. And his
guile. He came close to killing me-just as you did." Pangloss opened his robe and
pointed at a long, ragged scar in the middle of his chest. Although she knew the
wound had to be at least ten years old, it still looked fresh. "I nearly died from that
silver blade of yours. It still hurts, even now."

"If you're expecting me to feel guilty, forget it."

"I know better than to expect pity from you, or from any of our ilk."

"So why are you telling me this?"

Pangloss's smile was bitter. "When you love someone as much as I loved Morgan,
and find that emotion betrayed... You see, my dear, I hate him as much as you do.

And for far better reasons. It is in my interest that Morgan's plan be foiled."

"Plan?"

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The elder vampire chuckled, shaking his head in admiration. "The fool's ambition is
boundless, if nothing else. He is plotting to revolutionize Pretender society, although
I'm uncertain as to how he expects to do so. Something about creating an army of
silver-immune vampires."