La Vida Vampire (20 page)

“You know what astral traveling is?” I asked.

“More or less.”

“That’s how I survived. I projected myself to the outside world and fed on energy.”

He looked surprised, then disgusted. “You drained people psychically?”

So much for reaching out, except to smack him. That sounded good. Or dumping hot tea on his head.

“For your information, I never
drained
anyone. I looked for angry people to feed on because they had energy to burn. A few of them even got nicer afterward.” I paused a beat. “Of course, during World War II, I tried to get to Hitler. He was too far away, so I went for the guys in the U-boats off the coast.”

He shook his head. “I almost bought that.”

“Hey, you asked, I’m answering. Believe what you want.”

I took another swallow of tea and stared him down.

“Why don’t you use your vamp powers?”

“Like what? Vampire speed? Maybe it makes me dizzy.”

“Why do you drive a car and ride a bicycle?”

“Because I like things with wheels?”

“Can you fly?”

“You have Tinkerbell in your pocket with pixie dust handy? I promise you I can think happy little thoughts. Like having you out of my afterlife.” I stood and fisted my hands on my hips. “Why are you so bent, Saber? Why do I have to conform to your narrow-minded view of vampires?”

“Because I—”

He broke off, his cobalt eyes darkening as he rose to face me. He radiated a tumble of anger and frustration and—

Pheromones. I smelled pheromones.

One musky scent was strong and seductive and Saber’s.

Another, that faint scent of musk, the one I’d smelled every time I’d been with him, lay under the strong scent. And if it wasn’t his, it had to be…

Mine?

I inhaled a desperately deep breath and oh my gosh! It
was
my scent. I had pheromones for Saber!

My little voice screamed,
Run
, and I backpedaled, forgetting the chair right behind me. My legs hit the seat, my butt hit the chair back, and I fell flat on my back, smacking my head on the hardwood floor for good measure. Stars dotted my vision, distorting the expression on Saber’s face as he stood over me.

“I don’t know what brought that on,” he said, “but it proves one thing.”

“Wh-what?” I asked, still stunned.

“You can’t fly.”

Embarrassing as it was to take a fall for a man like Saber, at least I proved something to him. Not the no -fly thing; the vampires-can-get-hurt thing. I had a bump the size of an egg on the back of my head for a full half hour. Saber even put an ice pack on it after he noticed my eyes weren’t tracking just right.

I’ll give him this. Other than his first crack, he didn’t rub my clumsiness in my face. He merely gave me a hand up, righted the chair, and asked to use my laptop.

Of course, I wasn’t about to let him snoop in my room or my computer files. Not that I had anything to hide —except a giant stuffed dolphin on my bed—but it was the principle of the thing. On the other hand, I wasn’t sitting beside him again, too close for comfort. So, at nearly one in the morning, he sat at the dining table surfing for information on the Fourniers and Millie, while I tried to read the lecture on mid-century modern design I’d printed. I say tried, because my real task was trying to get over scenting my own pheromones.

Me attracted to Saber in more than the most superficial gee-ain’t-he-gorgeous way? How scary is that?

He irritated me—a fly buzzing the picnic of my afterlife just begging to be swatted. Oh, I felt some lust, all right, but I couldn’t imagine being tangled in the sheets with Saber. Heck, if I weren’t vampire enough to make him happy, I sure wouldn’t be woman enough. He’d be ragging me at the first hint of my inexperience.

“You committing that page to memory for life?”

I startled and looked up to find him watching me. I wondered how long—and if I’d been making faces thinking about sex with him.

“Did you find anything online?”

“You were born June 23, 1780, wear a size four, and have an IQ of one sixty-two, based on testing and observation of your learning curve, which—” He squinted at the computer screen. “—the psychological tester called phenomenal.”

I did the intelligent, mature thing. I crossed my eyes at him. “I meant did you trace Yolette’s first husband.”

“Yolette Marie Girard Fournier wasn’t married in the States. No marriage license application on file.”

“Girard? How did you get her maiden name?”

“Her passport.”

“Ah, of course. Did you trace Millie?”

“Not far enough. I got a street and unit address, so I figure she lives in a condo.”

“Wow, single homes don’t have unit numbers? They teach you that in detective school?”

“You have an unvampire headache from your fall, or are you just being bitchy?”

“Where does Millie live?”

“In Captain’s Harbor. I got her deceased husband’s name, found his obit and their marriage application.”

“But you can’t trace her relatives?”

“I’ll pick up there tomorrow while you work with the artist on the sketch of Gomer.”

“She might be on my tour again tomorrow. We could question her then.”

“We could, huh? Is that the royal we, Princess? Didn’t you tell Maggie you wouldn’t give a weekend tour?”

“You’ll be there, and Millie already likes me.”

“No. You’re not trained in interrogation techniques.”

“So coach me,” I said before I clearly thought that through. Spend more time with Saber? Maybe not. He gave me a long look, one that warmed and darkened his eyes. My skin tingled, and the faint bouquet of my own pheromones tickled my nose again. Time for a subject change.

“Fine, question her yourself, but you have to admit it’s a good opportunity to do it casually.” I tapped my lecture printout on the table to straighten the pages and rose. “If you’re finished with my computer, I have a chair to design.”

“One more question.”

“What?” I said through clenched teeth.

“If I fall asleep, you promise you won’t leave the condo?”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“What are you doing after you finish your design?”

“Watching my
Magnum
marath—Oh, wait. I forgot to pick up the mail. I’ll be right back.”

I dashed into my room to get my keys and back out to find Saber waiting at the door.

“What, I can’t get the mail by myself?”

“You can, but you’re not going to. I’m coming with you.”

Please don’t,
I wanted to say, but I rode the elevator down with him, staying as far away as I could without being too obvious.

The mailboxes were around the corner from the elevator near the tenant entrance, where they were convenient for the mailman. I sped toward them but stopped short when I heard the unearthly caterwauling.

“What the hell?” Saber said behind me.

In unison, we sprinted to the leaded-glass door and looked out to find Cat yowling and pacing around a man crumpled facedown on the tiled landing outside. A man whose face was turned from us but who was dressed pseudo black ops, like Victor Gorman had been just hours ago.

The smell of blood was thick and sharp and far too strong.

I try to face the challenges of afterlife head -on, but, except for the first month out of my box, I ’d never had a week as confusing as this one. Or one less fun.

I guess I’d been in denial about the faint musky scent being my own pheromones, and I ’d still like to deny that. I sure hadn’t given much thought to Cat suddenly showing up—and showing up so often.

Now it was time to pay attention.

So, while I waited in the Flagler Hospital ER for Saber and Detective March to bring word about Gorman ’s condition, I considered it. Or rather, her.

Cat had prowled around Gorman’s prone body twice more before she gazed straight into my eyes and that sense of magick had scraped my skin like extra coarse sandpaper. This was obviously no common house cat, but was Cat a shifter like Triton—sometimes in human form, sometimes in animal form? Or could magical animals themselves change sizes the way I was certain Cat had that first night in the fog? I didn ’t know enough about shape-shifting in general to hazard much of a guess, but I could boot up my computer and find answers pretty darn soon.

If I got out of the hospital before I had to meet the sketch artist at the sheriff’s office. Not five minutes later, I heard footsteps, Saber’s voice and March’s along with the St. Augustine officer who ’d been assigned to wait to talk with Gorman.

I jumped up from my seat as they trooped in, and Saber motioned me to the deserted hallway.

“Well?” I prompted, looking in turn at each of their haggard faces.

March looked at the St. Augustine uniformed officer, whose name badge read MICHAELS and got a small nod.

“Gorman will make it,” March said, “but he won’t be talking to us tonight.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d held. “How bad is he?”

“He has a pretty good concussion,” Saber answered, “cracked ribs, contusions, and possible spleen damage.”

“Geez, who would do that?” I said, shaking my head. “None of this makes sense.”

“Ms. Marinelli,” Officer Michaels said, “Special Investigator Saber went over Gorman’s behavior at Wal-Mart. Is there any way he could’ve been breaking into the building?”

I shrugged. “I doubt it. If he did get in, he’d have to have a code for the elevator to go to the penthouse level,
and
a key to the condo door. Unless he had a battering ram handy.”

The youngish officer cocked his head. “Did you say anything about going out? Could he have been waiting for you?”

“No. The only reason I was downstairs at all was because I forgot to pick up my mail. Like I said, it makes no sense.”

“Tell me about it,” March said dryly. “Look, you and Saber go back to your place. He’ll bring you to the station to see the sketch artist at eight, then maybe you can both get some sleep.”

I glanced at Saber, and it hit me that, with Gorman no longer a threat, he didn’t have to bodyguard me. Did I want to bring that up? I sighed. No.

Being rid of Saber might make me pheromone-free, but I was too tired, too stressed, and too confused to rock the boat—

leaky as it was. If I felt that way, Saber and March had to be dead on their feet. Sometimes you just have to go with the afterlife flow.

Cosmil stood in the perfect circle of trees. Above his open, outstretched hands, a glass sphere so ancient its origins were lost in time hovered in the air. At his feet, Earth pulsed her ancient rhythm into his body. The change was complete. Triton was man again this night, this moment. The sphere captured his long stride from the waves and up the beach to his home, where jagged coastal hills loomed in the background. The sphere kept Triton ’s image sharp as he showered and dressed, then crossed to the luggage open on the bed. Atop precisely folded clothing lay a brochure and an airline ticket. The brochure read
Anastasia Isle Antiques
—the St. Augustine business Triton had purchased with spacious living quarters on the second floor. Cosmil knew Triton would change the store name and would ship many artifacts from his West Coast store to the new one. How long Triton would continue to operate the shop once he was fully empowered was a question for the future.

The airline ticket was dated Wednesday next. The day most conducive to Cosmil shielding Triton ’s movement and the ripples it would send into the magical world.

Cosmil sent a small effort of will into the sphere, and Triton moved to a salvaged captain ’s desk where a contract of sale awaited his signature. Pink
Sign Here
tabs fanned down the sides of the pages. A fanciful pen in the shape of a mermaid and a gold dolphin charm rested on the scarred wood of the desk. Triton hesitated, then pocketed the charm and signed and initialed the papers.

And it harmed none, Cosmil had seen the completion of a phase of Triton ’s business affairs. The sphere lowered slowly into his hands, and he wrapped it in fine brocade shot with silver thread. As he stooped to gently set the sphere in its carved olive wood case, Pandora trotted into the clearing.

Blood. Cosmil smelled blood.

The vampire killer was set upon and wounded.

“By whom? The investigator?”

Pandora sat and licked a massive paw.
I did not see the attack, but it was not him I scented. Only the blood.

“And Francesca?”

Safe.
Pandora cocked her head at the olive wood case.
Was the identity of The Void revealed?

“No, but Triton returned from the sea and will be home soon.”

Get him here safely, Old Wizard. The stench of blood and danger grow stronger.

FOURTEEN

I didn’t know how much time it would take Saber to shower, shave, clean his gun, or whatever else he did in the morning, so I pounded on Maggie’s suite door at seven fifteen Saturday.

“We have forty-five minutes to get to the sheriff’s office,” I called through the wood panel. I knew he didn’t get more than three hours of sleep, but the amount of growling and grunting from the other side of the door convinced me that Saber, even after a good night’s sleep, was not a morning person. We stopped at the Dunkin’ Donuts on San Marcos for Saber’s coffee fix. He must’ve really needed it, because he didn’t bat an eye when I ordered a French cruller. It was almost worrisome when he didn’t react, so I gave him the pastry after I pinched off some for myself. He
humphed
and polished off the cruller so fast I doubt he tasted it. I savored my bite. I met with the same sketch artist, Billie Ormand, at eight on the dot, while Saber worked on the computer to find Millie ’s family. Detective March wasn’t in yet, which didn’t surprise me. In the middle of the night at the hospital, it looked like he’d thrown a coat on over a pajama top and pants he’d slept in for three days running.

Billie and I were finished with Gomer ’s likeness by eight thirty. The likeness would be distributed all over Florida and southern Georgia first, then nationwide. Wherever Gomer was, I hoped the sketch turned him up fast. Saber had also been successful, judging by the gleam in his still bloodshot eyes as we left the sheriff ’s office. Either that or the sugar and caffeine had kicked in.