"What about Midnight and Ronald and Alan?"
Bryce spoke pleasantly, waving a hand in the air. "They're perfectly fine." He lowered his chin and whispered. "For now."
"Can you save Midnight?"
Harsh laughter burst from his mouth. "Silly human.
"Raleigh, drag the girl and her savior over to the corner with the FBI agent. We need the space in the center of the room to cast the circle."
Raleigh gave a dramatic bow and skipped over to Midnight. He pulled her by the arm, her head slamming onto the floor as it fell off Ronald's lap.
"Please! Don't hurt her!" Ronald's eyes glistened with tears. It feels horrible to be helpless.
Raleigh barked at Ronald, "Get over here under your own steam or I'll be happy to drag you, too. Of course, your arm might accidentally be pulled out of its socket, but by that time you'll have passed out and won't notice."
He made a braying sound, which was probably laughter. Bryce smiled like a proud parent watching a precocious child. He seemed to be having a very good time. He turned to one of the bearded vampires who'd brought over ajar of something for him to inspect.
Movement in the mirror caught my eye. A man, dressed not in vampire regalia but in an old-fashioned waistcoat and breeches, stalked across the room and stood at the edge of the activity, watching. In his hands he carried a violin and bow. He began gesturing angrily with the bow, his face contorted, his mouth forming soundless words.
None of the vampires in the middle of the room responded. Apparently, they couldn't hear him. Neither could I. I shifted my head so I could see the man directly instead of reflected in the mirror. He wasn't there. Turning back to the mirror I found him right where he'd been before.
I tried the experiment again with the same result.
What the hell? Am I the only one who sees this guy?
It was obvious from his body language that the violinist was becoming progressively more upset the longer he was ignored. He moved toward Raleigh, who was hefting a large black stone into place in the circle, and poked him with the bow .. . which passed right through his body.
Not getting the result he desired obviously enraged the man further and he stamped his foot, throwing his bow on the floor. When he bent over to pick it up, his eyes met mine in the mirror. Surprise flashed across his face and he disappeared.
No. I didn't just see that Bryce must've messed with my brain again. No more supernatural weirdness. I refuse to believe one more unbelievable thing. At that moment, Bryce dismissed the bearded vamp and turned to me. He closed his arm around my waist. I felt a feather's breath of air against my face, then we were down on the main floor, in the middle of the party.
I almost asked him how he managed to come and go without smashing into or landing on top of anyone, but caught the words before they left my mouth. I didn't want him to mistake my nervous chatter for actual interest in anything about him.
I craned my neck, searching the area for Brother Luther and was relieved to come up empty. Since I hadn't heard back from Lieutenant Bullock, and Alan was incapacitated upstairs, I hoped the lunatic wouldn't show up. According to what Bryce had said, there was already a full dose of misery on tap for the evening.
Misery and a ghost in the mirror.
A velvet voice floated through my mind. "My love."
I started to say "Dev—"
"Speak to me silently. In your mind."
I didn't waste any time questioning whether or not I could communicate telepathically. I sent him a bundle of thoughts, emotions, and pictures, sharing everything I knew about Brother Luther, Bryce's intentions, the ritual to trap him, and someone named Lucifer.
"I will not allow harm to come to you. Do not let anyone know you have spoken to me. I will be close by. No matter what."
I felt an odd emptiness and knew he was gone.
Bryce's mouth was moving, so I assumed he'd been talking to me. I focused on his words, hoping he'd provide more useful information... why he would be interested in someone like you." "What?" I blurted, annoyed that I'd missed the first part of his sentence.
I held my hands over my ears, pretending I hadn't heard him because of the loud music. He scowled and raised his voice.
"I was saying, Devereux knew when he brought me over that I'd be powerful. He also knew how I felt about him. He's as bisexual as the rest of us. I never did believe his song and dance about waiting for some soul mate or whatever. It's bad enough he's making a fool of himself over a woman. But a human woman is beyond belief."
The evil grin slid across his face again.
"He'll have a long time to regret and reassess his choices. I might still take him back. If he begs."
"Let's dance."
Before I could protest or think of a way to avoid the close contact, Bryce pulled me onto one of the table-free areas where couples were slow dancing.
He put his hands on my rear end and ground his lower body against mine.
I struggled to free my arms from his rigid embrace. He didn't even notice.
He was busy studying my cl**vage in the low cut dress.
"I might just have to sample the goods Devereux is so hot for before the night is over. You've got big tits. I like that."
He reached a hand around, grabbed my breast, squeezed and laughed.
"More than a handful."
He slid his hand from my breast to the hair resting beside it and lifted a curl. "And your hair is long. It's almost as pretty as mine. Almost."
If he was waiting for me to compliment his hair, he'd be a rotted corpse in vampire hell before that happened. Thankfully, he didn't have a reaction to my lack of response. He palmed my butt cheeks again, moving us assertively through the crowd. He clearly fancied himself the vampire Fred Astaire. As we circled the dance floor, I searched for familiar faces. I thought it might be easy to pick out the vampires in the sea of wannabes, but it turned out to be more complicated than expected.
The high quality of the costumes, makeup, wigs, and fake fangs, along with the fact that just about everyone in the room wore dramatic vampire costumes, made identifying the bloodsuckers more challenging. Everybody looked like an authentic bloodsucker. But the longer we danced among them, the more I began to notice the familiar tingle when I was in the vicinity of a vampire. And not only that. I was able to intuitively sense the level of the vampire's powers.
Some of them barely sent out enough buzz to charge a flashlight battery, while others came across like a mini cattle prod to the solar plexus. My stomach muscles had repeatedly contracted since Bryce kidnapped us out of my living room—fear tends to do that—so it was a good guess he belonged in the second category.
Apollo had told me that a vampire was only as powerful as the one who made him, so if Devereux was Bryce's maker, his abilities were probably beyond the norm. Or whatever passed for normal in vampire reality.
Vampire. Reality.
Two weeks ago I'd never have put those words in the same sentence.
The slow song ended and the band launched into one of those World Beat compositions that combined African and Latin rhythms. The primitive drumbeats called to the celebrants and the dance floor filled.
I had to admit, most vampires might be sick puppies, but they could dance.
Bryce flipped me around so my rear end nestled against his groin. His arms encircled my waist, pulling me tighter against his apparently ever-present erection, as he propelled us through the cavorting masses. He boogied, shifting his h*ps from side to side, forcing me to mimic his movements.
Ever since we'd popped onto the main floor, I'd been so occupied with Bryce, spotting Brother Luther if he arrived, and trying to communicate with Devereux that I'd missed some interesting developments. I'd always thought most men were overly fond of their penises. They were always ready, willing, and able to talk about them, show them to you, touch you with them, or try to sneak them into any warm, wet, available place.
It would appear that vampires have elevated penis fixation to an art form. All around me on the dance floor was sexual activity. Penises being stroked by either the owner or a willing partner of either sex.
I'd stumbled into a vampire p**n video. Was that what being immortal meant? Blood sucking and mast**bation? And why was it only the male vampires? Did something weird happen to testosterone in the transformation? Was that the best we could do with eternal life? Perpetual sexual adolescence?
Lost in thought, I startled when a woman screamed a few feet away from me. I was only able to hear it because the tone of her cry was higher pitched than the music. I jerked my head in the direction of the scream saw a woman pinned to the floor by a vampire whose fangs were embedded in her neck. I'd guess she wasn't a willing donor.
None of the bystanders offered to help her. In fact, the attack seemed to excite the strokers. I struggled to get out of Bryce's grasp and he clasped me tighter, rubbing himself against me, making soft moaning sounds. It was completely stupid of me to think I could do anything to make the vampire release his victim, but I absolutely couldn't just stand there and watch.
I stomped down hard on Bryce's foot with the heel of my shoe and he relaxed his arms enough for me to slide down through them. I don't think he let go because I hurt him, but because I surprised him. He was obviously distracted. I leaped onto the back of the sucking vampire, who turned out to be a very large, muscular, smelly bloodsucker who flicked me off without even lifting his mouth from the woman's neck.
Laughter echoed around me as I fell to the floor on my back. A hand reached out of a full-length, hooded robe to help me up and I caught a glimpse of a familiar face inside the hood. Even the clown-like vampire makeup couldn't disguise Lieutenant Bullock's distinctive features. I started to acknowledge her, and she stopped me with the slightest shake of her head.
Bryce's arm snaked around my waist again and he jerked me up off my feet, holding my back against his chest.
"Ordinarily, I'd punish you for your absurd actions, but I still need you for a little while longer. You're lucky Lucifer wants you.
"Playtime's over. Let's go back upstairs."
The woman on the floor had stopped screaming and was clearly dead. The crowd actually applauded. Vampires suck. In more ways than one. I managed to catch Lieutenant Bullock's eyes and shifted mine in the direction of the high balcony, showing her where we were going. She gave an almost invisible nod, lowered the hood over her face and merged into the crowd. Just before Bryce popped us out, I caught a glimpse of several robed figures winding their way toward a doorway.
The music room had been transformed into the Church of Satan—or the setting for a Black Sabbath concert. Something that required lots of black draperies, upside-down crosses and pictures of ugly guys with horns.
A large circle with an inverted pentagram had been drawn in the center of the room and the massive gemstones placed in probably meaningful positions. Some of the mirrors had been decorated with elaborate symbols, and the light from the chandeliers was replaced by the soft, eerie glow of black candles.
When we materialized in the room, Raleigh scurried over to Bryce. He frowned as he noted that Bryce held me off the ground, tight to his chest, and that one of his hands had moved from my waist to my breast. Raleigh shot me a dirty look and snarled, showing his pointy fangs.
Jealousy?
Bryce noticed and enjoyed Raleigh's reaction. He laughed out loud, removed his arms from around me, and I fell in a
heap on the floor. Raleigh clutched Bryce's hand like a child.
It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, but I was finally able to make out the shapes in the corner. Ronald cradled Midnight in his arms and Alan sprawled next to them, still as a corpse. I hadn't allowed myself to consider the possibility that Alan was actually dead, but since it had occurred to me, I had to know. I started crawling in Alan's direction.
I'd just reached Alan, picked up his wrist and detected a light pulse, when the familiar limb closed around me again. Bryce held me under his arm like a rolled up newspaper.
"Playing Florence Nightingale, Dr. Knight? Trying to save the handsome FBI agent? My, my. How many men are you servicing these days?
"But you mustn't rattle the blood sacks. I need at least one of them for the ritual. Maybe two."
"What are you talking about? What do you need for the ritual?" Blood."
Do you mean you need to drink blood?" ;You really are a tedious human. Of course I need to drink blood. But this blood's for the ritual. It's the final step. We're going to smear it all over the circle. Quite a waste of food, if you ask me, but the wizard geniuses say it's necessary.
"It will be worth it to have Devereux under my power."
He laughed, carried me near the circle and set me on my feet. He positioned himself in front of me, shoved one of his hands down the front of my dress and roughly grabbed a breast.
"'You didn't answer my question, Florence. How many men are you servicing?"
His grip on the tender flesh hurt, but I didn't want him to know that. I breathed in slowly through my nose, using a relaxation technique to lessen my awareness of the pain.
"None of your business."
He squeezed harder and I yelped. My knees gave out. It hurt like a mammogram times a thousand, and he wasn't even trying. My entire breast was going to be black and blue. If he didn't rip it off. Apparently, the protective necklace only worked if it was touched directly. What kind of magic talisman was that? Smiling, he released his hold, pulled his hand out of my dress and let me fall to the floor. Standing over me, he unbuttoned his pants and was sliding down the zipper of his fly when the silence was shattered by an extremely loud pop and Brother Luther appeared.