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  She looked around her cautiously, exercising a discretion I would never have suspected she possessed, especially after drinking almost an entire bottle of champagne by herself. “I know quite a bit about you, Deirdre. More than you’d think.”

  “Even so, Betsy, a friendship with me is a dangerous commodity. I imagine that Gwen died cursing me.”

  “I think, Deirdre, that you were cursed long before Gwen was killed. And that you carry the curse within your veins.”

  I stared at her for a moment, growing uncomfortable with the closeness of her words to the truth of my existence. “Yes,” I finally said, getting up from the table, “I think you may be right.”

  She reached over and placed her hand on top of mine. “You’re not leaving so soon, are you? You can’t—we haven’t eaten yet.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really need to go. I’ve lost what little appetite I had, anyway. It’s nothing personal, Betsy. Just that the little unfinished business I told you about keeps growing and if I don’t get started on it soon, it may go completely out of control.”

  “Okay, then, go if you have to. Take care of yourself, Deirdre. And if you need a friend, I’ll be here for you.”

  “Thank you, Betsy. Enjoy your meal, and thank you again for the clothes. You’re a lifesaver, truly. I’ll call before I leave town and we’ll reschedule dinner.”

  “And I’ll hold you to that.” She gave me a knowing smile and a wink.

  “Good night, Betsy. And thanks again.”

  “Anytime,” she replied and I started to walk away. “Oh, and Deirdre?”

  I turned, “Yes?”

  She held her glass of champagne up in a toast. “Good hunting.”

  I didn’t stop to ask her what she meant, just turned again and walked away, not looking back. But I did remember to stop at the coat-check counter. The young girl looked up at me when I approached. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I think you have a package here for me.”

  “Your name?”

  “Oh. Deirdre Griffin or maybe Greer?”

  The girl nodded and smiled at me. “Victor had it sent to your rooms, Ms. Griffin. I hope that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Once again I navigated the elevator and the corridors, and went back in the room, I checked the clock. It was only a little after nine, plenty of time before Mitch would return and more than enough to sort through the clothes that Betsy had provided, maybe even time to take a walk alone afterwards. I realized with a small rush of surprise that I missed the solitude I had grown accustomed to over the years, missed the feeling of unity with the night and nature.

  The box of clothes had been placed on top of the coffins. I shook my head as I walked over to it, thinking that I really should get Victor to remove them. Neither Mitch nor I had the desire to try them out. Slitting the top of the box open with my nails I pulled out several pairs of black jeans and heavy black sweatshirts.

  “Bless you, Betsy,” I said as I delved further into the box. She’d also included a red sweater tunic almost identical to one I once owned and had to discard, some oversized t-shirts, a dressy black and white lightweight suit and three dresses identical to the one I now wore only in different colors, a red one, a black one and a white.

  I shook out the dresses and the suit and hung them in the armoire. The rest I folded and put away in the dresser drawers, keeping out a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. When I shut the drawer, the dresser shook and some of the rose petals fell away.

  Picking up the vase, I carried it into the bathroom to freshen the water and to find an aspirin. The medicine cabinet actually held a bottle to my surprise, and as I dropped a tablet into the water I realized that I’d forgotten to ask Victor if he’d sent the flowers. “Well, it had to be Victor,” I said aloud, contemplating the black rose bud surrounded by the sea of red, “Who else would know?” It made sense that Victor would remember Max’s methods; even made sense that he would attempt to copy them.

  I placed them back on top of the dresser, turning the vase slightly to show them off to their best advantage. As the vase twisted I noticed a corner of white underneath it, almost invisible against the white dresser scarf.

  The card that came with the flowers had been taped to the bottom of the vase, almost as if the sender had not wanted me to find it right away. The envelope was not written on, but when I pulled the card out, I recognized the handwriting and wished Mitch were here for many reasons.

  The least of which was to vindicate his theory that Larry Martin was still alive. Larry’s card read: “Deirdre, I hope these flowers find you happy and well. Unfortunately, by the time you read this note, some will be missing, torn away in violence from their kindred.” I glanced away from the note and counted the flowers. Ten red and one black were remaining. There had been twelve red ones last night, I was sure. “I told you I wouldn’t forget you,” the note continued, “and as I’m sure you remember, the black rose is you.”

  It was easy to connect the two missing roses and the two dead vampires. Larry was once again displaying his flair for the melodramatic. I would have laughed out loud had I not been so convinced that this time he would succeed in his plans and I would be dead.

  I dropped the note on the floor and walked over to the bed. Pulling off the green velvet dress, I vowed with a grim smile never to wear the color again, no matter how long I lived, put on the jeans and sweatshirt, pulled on my boots and left the room.

  When I hit the street and the outside air I let the breath I’d been holding escape in a sigh of relief. My heart was racing, but I walked slowly, in an attempt to calm my panic. Fleeing Cadre headquarters seemed a good first step. That sanctuary, if it ever had been one, was no longer safe for me. Larry had been there at least two times that I knew of, once to deliver the roses and then just this morning or afternoon while Mitch and I lay unaware. I shivered in the warm spring air, imagining him standing over me, watching the rise and fall of my chest in sleep, showering me with blood red petals.

  How could he do all these things? He was a relatively new transformation and a rogue at that with no one to teach or to guide him. I had to find the answer to that question. If I didn’t, ten other Cadre members would die. And then it would be my turn.

  I thought back over my unnaturally long life. There was a time when I would have welcomed Larry’s attention, when I would have given him all I owned to have him provide for me the release of death. “But not now. Please, not now,” I whispered to myself. “Now I have Mitch.”

  I continued walking, my pace picking up now. Without conscious thought of where I was going, I just walked, letting my awareness flow into the workings of my body, the feel of the concrete under my feet, the smell of the night air. I turned down one street and doubled back another, finding myself at last in an alley that seemed very familiar. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, searching my mind for clues to this place and remembered that I stood outside Larry Martin’s old apartment building.

  There was no police cruiser waiting outside the front door this night, as there had been that other time, no need for me to climb the wall and break into an open window. I walked around the side of the building and entered the front door.

  I remembered his apartment number and in less than a minute stood outside the door. There was no good reason to assume that he still occupied this place, and yet there was really no reason for him not to. I knew better than most that the habits of a vampire die hard.

  Listening at the door, I heard no sounds of life from within. I stooped over and put my face up to the keyhole, inhaling the scent of this place. It reeked of him. Larry Martin still lived here.

  He’d grown more cautious, I thought, noticing extra locks on the door that had not been there before. Breaking them was possible with a few strong kicks, but the noise might attract the attention of his neighbors. Not really a likely prospect, but a possibility I didn’t much care to test.

  The longer I stared at the locked door, the more
I knew I had to get inside. Then the answer hit me. The powers he used to enter my room were no different than the ones I possessed. I had transformed into a mist once before and I could do it again.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to remember how the sensation of melting away felt. My body swayed slightly as I reached out to the air around me, willing it to flow through me, willing myself to dissolve into it. My arms and legs tingled and I felt a shiver sweep along my back. I emptied my mind of all thoughts of flesh and bodily contact; tried to will my body to merge and combine with the air around me.

  But when I opened my eyes, I saw that I had failed. I was as substantive as I had been before the attempt. Laughing bitterly at myself, I remembered lines from Hamlet, “O, that this too too solid flesh would melt . . .” and “. . . ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d . . .”

  “Damn.” I walked away and down the front steps of his building back to the street, talking to myself. “That’s what you get for trying to hold on to this body for so many years, Deirdre. When you want to get rid of it, you can’t.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” came a familiar voice behind me, “as bodies go, it’s certainly one I’d like to hold on to.”

  I spun around. “Mitch!” I threw myself into his arms and kissed him, then snuggled into his familiar suit coat. “How on earth did you know I was here?”

  “Coincidence?”

  “Not on your life.” I hugged him again and noticed that he was wearing his shoulder holster and his gun.

  “Armed and dangerous, tonight, are we?”

  He shrugged. “I thought it might come in handy. So when I was over at the old apartment I picked it up.”

  “Did you see Chris?” I asked anxiously. “Is he still upset?”

  “One crisis at a time, Deirdre.” Suddenly all the life went out of his eyes. “But, yeah, I saw Chris. We can talk about it later, okay?”

  “Fine. So tell me how you knew I’d be here.”

  “Well,” he took my arm and led me back up the steps to Larry’s apartment, “actually, I got back to the room earlier than I expected and saw the note on the floor. I know you all too well by now, Deirdre, and knew that you would attempt to meet the threat head-on.”

  “I failed. Miserably.” We now stood outside the same door and I gave it a feeble kick. “Couldn’t even get in the damn door.”

  He smiled down at me and kissed the top of my head. “So I gathered. He’s not home, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Good. That makes this much easier.” He pulled out his gun and fired at the locks. The noise of the shots echoed through the hallways, but not one person stepped out to see what was happening. Mitch looked around a second before reaching down and turning the knob, then gave me one of his mischievous smiles. “God, I love this city.”

  Chapter 20

  We entered the apartment. It was filthier than I remembered. “I find it hard to believe that even someone as crazy as Larry would live here.” I waved my hand in front of my nose and coughed. “It’s more than foul.”

  Mitch scanned the place. “I don’t actually think he lives here. For one thing, there’s no coffin. And Larry would most definitely opt for sleeping in a coffin. This is more of a hideaway, I’d suspect, and one that he hasn’t actually used for a while.”

  “How can you know that?”

  He pointed to the table surfaces. “By the fact that the dust is relatively undisturbed, for one thing. If he were here regularly there’d be cleaner patches, just from his touch.”

  “Then this is a waste of our time.”

  “Not necessarily. He keeps this place for a reason, I assume. If we can find that reason, then we won’t have wasted our time.”

  I gave Mitch a wide, delighted smile.

  “Why are you smiling?” he questioned. “Did you find something already?”

  I nodded, still smiling. “Yes, I’ve discovered that my detective is back. I missed him. He’s been so busy trying to be a vampire, he forgot what he was good at.”

  “You don’t get much of a chance to use police skills washing mugs and waiting bar in a pub, Deirdre. Not that I minded helping you out, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yes,” I said, my voice saddened, “I do know what you mean. When all of this is over, my love, we’ll have to see if we can find you a job better suited to your skills. I can always hire another dishwasher.”

  “So, what are we looking for here?”

  “I don’t have a clue. You’re the detective, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said with humor in his voice, “I think so, but this was your idea.”

  I kicked at a dusty pile of books. “I think I was hoping to find something that would explain how Larry managed to develop his powers to such an advanced stage in so short a time. He can’t possibly have done it all on his own, you know.”

  “You think someone is teaching him on the side?”

  “Yes.” Suspicions of Vivienne instantly came to my mind, but I kept them there, knowing that they might be unfounded. Knowing also that they could easily be shrugged off as jealousy on my part.

  “Who would do that? Not a Cadre member, certainly.”

  “Why not a Cadre member? Who else would know so much? Victor said that all of the notes delivered to the house leaders contained personal details that Larry should not have known. He must have a source of information somewhere.”

  “It would have to be someone fairly high up in the organization. How about Ron?”

  I thought for a moment then dismissed the idea. “No, quite honestly, I can’t see Ron having the initiative to stand against the organization. He’s very dedicated to Victor. I think that only a very few of the Cadre would have enough gumption to plot something like this.”

  Mitch grunted slightly in what I took to be agreement and opened a box that had been placed under one of the end tables. I walked into the kitchen, shuddering at the number of roaches that scurried away at my approach. There was nothing here with the exception of busy and thriving insect colonies, the cupboards and appliances were empty.

  “Deirdre,” Mitch called to me as I was leaving the kitchen, dusting my hands on my pants. “Did you ever think that maybe Max is helping him?”

  I laughed grimly. “Very funny, Mitch. Max is dead. Buried. Even his ghost is gone forever.”

  “But,” and he held up a black leather bound book with a triumphant smile, “his words aren’t.” He tilted the box he’d been examining over on its side so that I could see what it contained. “Do these look familiar?”

  I felt like a fool. “Damn, Max’s journals. I’d forgotten about them.” It all fell into place. Larry hadn’t needed help from anyone; all he needed to do was read the words of the master. Max had been, by Victor’s admission, the most powerful vampire the Cadre had ever known. No better teacher could be found anywhere, living or dead.

  Mitch straightened up and lifted the box effortlessly. “Let’s get these out of here and into a safe place before he finds out they’re gone.”

  It wasn’t until we were in a cab and halfway to Cadre headquarters that I thought to ask. “Where are we going to find a safe place, Mitch?”

  “The holding cells, of course. Larry’s crazy, but he’s not stupid enough to return there.” He patted the top of the box that sat on the seat between us. “Not even to get these babies back.”

  Mitch kicked open the door of Victor Lange’s office and dropped the box of books on the floor. “Larry Martin is still alive, Lange. I’m afraid all your evidence to the contrary is useless. Even your eyewitness, whoever she may be.”

  Victor lifted his face to us and from the bloodstained tracks we could tell that he had been crying. “Jesus, Victor,” I rushed to him and knelt next to his chair. “What’s happened?”

  “It was Ron.”

  “Ron?” Mitch’s voice was gentler now. “What about Ron?”

  “The body in the park was Ron’s.”

  “Oh, God, no.” I felt tear
s spring up in my eyes, for Victor’s sorrow and for my own. Ron had been both my lover and my friend.

  “Why would he do this to me?” Victor sobbed uncontrollably and I patted his shoulder, trying to offer what little comfort I could. “Ron was my son. No, he was even closer than a son; out of all my offspring, he was the finest and the best. How could he kill himself without even saying a word to me first?”

  Mitch crossed over to stand in front of Victor’s desk. “Ron didn’t commit suicide, Victor. He was killed by Larry Martin.”

  “Larry Martin is dead.”

  I thought that if I had to hear those words from his mouth one more time I would scream. In deference to Victor’s pain, though, I said nothing.

  Mitch held no similar compunction. “Bloody hell, Victor, haven’t you been listening? Larry Martin is still alive and kicking. Very much so. He is more powerful than you can imagine and capable of much more than the simple parlor trick he used to escape from your escape-proof cells. To top all of that, he is about as crazy as they come. And he seems to have found an easy, sure-fire way to kill vampires.”

  Victor rose from his chair, pushing me away. He took no further notice of me even when I rose to my feet and stepped back out of his way. He did look at Mitch and opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again, shaking his head. Shuffling past Mitch to the doorway, he seemed like an old, old man. I remembered that he had reacted this way after Max’s true death; it had been a horrible sight then. But he had recovered quickly from that blow and his sanity had not been affected. Apparently, Ron’s death stole not only his vitality and youthfulness, but his mind and his ability to reason as well.

  He turned back to us for a second, straightening himself up somewhat, almost returning to life. “Chase after shadows all you like, Greer. Go hunting for the ghost of Larry Martin if it makes you happy. You have my permission, in fact, you have my blessing.” He laughed, a mocking cackle of his former strength. “For that matter, you can have my job. The Cadre is yours, now. Destroy it or save it, it’s all the same to me. Ron is dead. And I,” he sighed, a tired and sorrowful exhalation, “I have lived too long.”