Vamparazzi (41 page)

Looking as if maybe he
had
inhaled too much methane tonight, Lopez said to me, “Remember the door tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.”

My vampire posse joined us.

Flame asked, “Are we leaving, Miss Diamond?”

“Miss Diamond is being escorted home by the police, who will see her safely inside her apartment,” Lopez said. “You're dismissed for the night.”

Flame looked at me for confirmation, which I gave. He made arrangements to meet me near the theater tomorrow, “beyond the perimeter” of where trouble could be expected. Then he, Treat, Casper, and Silent left, roaring away on their two motorcycles.

“Can we go
now?
” Thack asked.

“Yes.”

“Wait,” Lopez said. “One more thing.”

“
Now
what?” Thack asked wearily.

“It's personal,” Lopez said to him.

Thack said to me, “On the way home, you're going to tell me who he is, right?”

“No, she's not,” Lopez said.

“Get in the car,” I urged Thack. “I'll be with you in a second.” Once he was out of earshot, I asked Lopez, “Who exactly are you tonight? I'm so confused!”

“I'm pretty confused tonight, too,” he said. “So just don't talk about me at all. All right?”

“Sure,” I said. “Was that the ‘one more thing'?”

“No.” He hesitated.

“Well?”

“This is a little awkward. I don't want you to be offended.”

“What is it?”

“Well, um, considering what I did back there . . .” He made a gesture indicating the spot around the corner where we had played with fire. “You'd tell me if there was something I needed to know, right?”

“Something you . . . Oh!
Oh.
” I realized what he meant. I wasn't offended. It was a fair question, coming from someone who'd just drunk my blood. “There's nothing to tell.
Nothing,
” I assured him.

“Okay.” His gaze shifted to the squad car. “You'd better go. I see that Shackleton's chomping at the bit to set off on this expedition.”

A
t my insistence, Leischneudel and I arrived at the theater unusually early the next evening. I was determined to be ready for the curtain tonight in
plenty
of time, without any of the panic-stricken rushing I'd wound up doing last night. I also wanted additional time to concentrate on my makeup, given that I was still black, blue, pink, and mottled.

My injured hand was a little stiff and sore, but I thought I would get by without needing stitches, as long as I was careful with it. I'd gone shopping today and found a brand of sturdy adhesive bandages that matched my skin tone; and the cut was on my palm, after all. So, although the bandage was anachronistic for a Regency-era play, very few audience members would see it.

Mindful of Daemon's allergies, I had also purchased hypoallergenic antibiotic ointment and muscle balm. They were too expensive, but spending the money was certainly better than living through a repeat of yesterday's performance.

Leischneudel was a wreck by the time we got inside the theater, and I was very grateful for the protection of the Caped Crusaders and my vampire posse. They hadn't been sufficient, though. We had also needed several policemen to help our cab get through the agitated crowds, as well as several more to deal with unruly vamparazzi while we made a mad dash from the taxi to the stage door, surrounded by our vampire bodyguards.

Now, as planned, I was all made-up and dressed, well ahead of curtain time. This had a calming effect on my nerves, which was a blessing, all things considered. I was almost ready to go ask Leischneudel to lace me up when there was a knock at my door.

“Come in.”

Tarr entered the dressing room. I ground my teeth together and wished I had bothered going to the door, so I could have kept him out of the room. He waltzed in now and flung himself into a chair as if he were a regular and welcome visitor here.

“I heard you got here early today,” he said. “You look great. I love that dress.”

I tugged the neckline up, unsuccessfully trying to minimize the way it exposed my breasts to his gaze. “What do you want?”

“Man, those crowds are
crazy
today, aren't they? It's insane out there! I really think they might start rioting when Daemon gets here.”

I glared at him. “Gosh, and who do we think might be responsible for
that,
Al?”

“What?” he asked innocently. “You think this is
my
fault?”

“You've certainly stirred the pot.”

“Hey, just doing my job,” he said cheerfully.

I shook my head and continued putting the finishing touches on my hair, ignoring the reporter.

I loathed Daemon, and even
I
was appalled by Tarr's treatment of him in the “updated and expanded” account of the murder that was in today's
Exposé
. Oozing with sleazy innuendo and unfounded speculation, it created the emphatic impression that Daemon had murdered Angeline, and it barely stopped short of calling on fans to commit vigilante justice before he killed again.

I thought that Daemon ought to sue Tarr and the
Exposé
. Thack had also read the piece and agreed that they damn well deserved to be sued; but he said he suspected a lawsuit might be fruitless. He thought the article was so shrewdly written that the
Exposé
's lawyers had probably approved it. Besides, the story was selling so many copies of the rag and getting so much exposure, the
Exposé
might even, Thack suggested cynically, have run a profit-and-loss calculation and decided that paying Daemon a settlement would be worth what they gained from smearing him like this.

Thack hadn't called me to gossip about the tabloids, though—all of which were spewing variations on the depiction of Daemon Ravel as a vampire gone bad. He had called to update me on the Lithuanian situation.

The Council of Gediminas, convinced that Benas Novicki had fallen in battle against a rogue vampire, was sending a crack specialist from Vilnius to clean up the mess here.

“I gather they rousted him out of bed for a briefing right after hearing from my uncle and then put him on the first available flight out of Vilnius. His name is Edvardas Froese,” Thack had said when we talked earlier today. “It sounds as if he's a combination of Dirty Harry, D'Artagnan, and the Terminator, all rolled into one Lithuanian vampire hunter.”

However, the Dirty D'Artagnanator, as I thought of him, had one slight handicap: He didn't speak English. So Uncle Peter was flying in from Wisconsin and would meet him at JFK Airport, acting as his guide and interpreter in our fair city.

“And then I guess we'll get our next update,” Thack said.

I had relayed the information to Max. That was several hours earlier, and we were still awaiting more news. Now that the
Exposé
was encouraging vigilante violence and the natives were restless, the Vilnius vampire hunter couldn't arrive soon enough, as far as I was concerned.

Although many things under heaven would have been a welcome distraction from my thoughts at the moment, Tarr's speaking again was not one of them.

Especially not when he said: “You smell really good.”

“I'm not supposed to smell at
all
,” I said prosaically. “I'm wearing all hypoallergenic stuff today.”

Tarr's nostrils flared. “
I
think you smell good.”

“Hmph. I'll need to see Daemon as soon as he gets in. If he can smell this stuff, I might have to wash it all off.” That would be quite a setback to my whole “be ready early” strategy today.

“
If
he gets in.” Tarr grinned wolfishly. “Sure, I know, half the babes out there still want to sleep with him—even after everything that's happened. What
is
it about that guy? Me, I just don't see it. But by now, the other half of the loonies out there are ready to tear him apart.”

Based on the volatile behavior of the crowd when Leischneudel and I had arrived, I thought Tarr was right—the vamparazzi might well go berserk when Daemon got here.

I was repelled by the way the reporter was gloating about it; and even more revolted when I realized he was delighted that his “work” was playing a significant role in inciting the mob.

I said, “I really don't think
this
is what Thomas Jefferson envisioned when he argued in favor of a free press, Al.”

“Spin is a beautiful thing.” Tarr ogled my back, where my gown flapped open. “And so are you, kiddo.”

“Don't call me—never mind. Why are you here, Al?” Realizing that gave him an opening to ask me out again, I hastily amended, “I mean, at the Hamburg? You shouldn't be here when Daemon arrives. All things considered, the sight of you today might
actually
turn him into a murderer. Are you willing to be strangled just for the sake of another headline?”

“I found out who Danny Ravinsky is.” Tarr's toothy grin broadened. “I thought he might want to talk about it before I file my story.” When I didn't rise to the bait, he prodded, “Aren't you curious?”

“No. And I'd like you to leave me alone now so I can—”

There was another knock on the door, which Tarr had left open. My gaze flew eagerly to the doorway. Attila the Hun would be a welcome visitor now, if it meant I wouldn't be alone with Tarr anymore.

“Victor!” I said, seeing the bald, anxious assistant hovering there. “Come in. I'm glad you're here.” Aware of Tarr's eyes following me everywhere, I said, “Could you lace me up?”

“Pardon?”

Tarr said, “Hey, I'll do that.”

“
No
, Victor's got it.” I presented my half-naked back to the befuddled assistant. “It pretty much works like shoelaces.”

“I'm wondering whether to phone Daemon,” Victor said anxiously as he started working on my laces. “What do you think, Esther? The mood of the crowd out there is so ugly, I feel I should warn him. But at the same time, I don't want to distress him unnecessarily. And, after all, it's not as if he can skip work tonight. The show must go on.”

“Well, he'll have to come through that crowd, anyhow, Victor. So maybe telling him about it ahead of time won't help or change anything.” As the assistant finished tying my laces, I added doubtfully, “Though if he wanted to avoid attention tonight, I suppose he could try coming through the fire exit on the other side of the stage.”

“The way he left,” Tarr said with an amused snicker, “when the cops hauled him away for questioning.”

“There's not as much police presence near that door,” I said, “but there usually aren't many vamparazzi hanging out around there, either.”

“Vampa-what?” Victor asked.

Tarr guffawed. “I get it! Good one!”

“That door doesn't open from the outside,” Victor said.

“So wait by the door and let him in when he pounds on it, genius,” Tarr said rudely.

I gave Tarr a cold glance. “It might not be such a good idea, after all, Victor.”

“No, I think it is. I'll call Daemon and suggest it.” Victor pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial. “He can phone me as his car pulls up, and I can be waiting right by the door to let him in.” He held the phone to his ear, then said a moment later in disappointment, “It's going to voice mail.” He glanced at me. “Well, I'll leave you to finish preparing. Thank you, Esther.”

“No, don't go,” I said to his retreating back, unwilling to be abandoned alone with Tarr.

Victor didn't hear me. He was leaving a message for Daemon, suggesting my plan.

“That guy gives me the creeps,” Tarr said to me. “No life of his own at all. Just exists to cater to Daemon's every whim, twenty-four-seven, and is
grateful
for the ‘privilege.' I swear, I think he's in love with Daemon.” Tarr leaned forward and confided, “Between you and me, I think Victor leans the other way, you know what I mean?”

“Your keen insight into human nature is always a revelation, Al,” I said coldly.

“God, I love your zingers!” he said with a chuckle.

I sighed. Why me?

I went back to my makeup table, privately considering Tarr's comment more seriously than I was willing to let him see. If Angeline's killer was someone obsessed with Daemon, that didn't preclude the person being someone Daemon knew—even someone close to him. Where
was
Victor when the girl had been murdered? I had no idea. No one had ever said.

Admittedly, I found it difficult to picture the high-strung, effeminate assistant as a rogue vampire prowling through the dirty, dark, spooky tunnels beneath the city, preying on other victims and also slaying an experienced vampire hunter in combat.

Then again, what did
I
know about rogue vampires? I supposed if you were endowed with mystical power and driven by your homicidal blood addiction, being high-strung and effeminate were probably just minor eccentricities.

“Oh, my God, I can't believe what it's like out there today!” Mad Rachel boomed, coming into the dressing room. “I swear it took me twenty minutes for my cab to get from the corner to the theater! People aren't even staying behind the police barricades anymore!”

I was packing up my makeup. Tarr was watching me. A moment of blessed silence descended on the room.

Then Rachel said, “What am I,
invisible?
Are you two even listening to me?”

We both looked at her in surprise. My jaw dropped when I realized that she had been speaking to
us
.