The Vampire Evolution Trilogy (Book 2): Rule of Vampire Page 8

  Greg was ripping one of the other boys apart with his bare hands, which, Stuart noticed for the first time, were sporting large claws. He looked down at his own hands, and as if in response to his thought, his fingers also turned into claws. Huh. Didn’t know I could do that.

  Jimmy had the third boy on the ground and was lying on top of him, quietly sucking his blood.

  Stuart looked nervously into the darkness. He could see at least five people hiding, watching everything. With a sigh, he moved into the shadows and started stalking them, one by one. He was satiated after the first, but he kept pursuing the others until he had killed them all. He made sure they were well and truly dead.

  That’s it, he thought. I’m getting out of this town.

  These idiots were going to bring every law enforcement officer within a hundred miles down on them.

  Chapter 16

  Jamie and Robert were dancing at the bar where they’d had their first date when his phone chirped. He glanced down at it and frowned. “It’s the station,” he said, and wended his way off the dance floor. Jamie followed. The police department usually left him alone at night, in consideration of his illness, so it must be something important.

  “How many were killed?” he said, his voice rising. Even through the music, most of the other bar patrons heard him and faltered, staring. He turned his back, trying to concentrate completely on the conversation.

  “I’ve got to go,” Robert said to Jamie when he turned around again. “Can you catch a cab home?” He started digging into his pockets for money. He had figured out that she was broke, although he’d never asked about her finances. He never asked about her past at all. It was as if, since he had such a short time left, he had decided not to care about anything that had happened before they met and just wanted to squeeze what happiness he could out of every moment.

  “Can’t I go with you?” Jamie asked, and her voice was insistent: very insistent. She had vowed to herself not to use her glamour powers on him––not ever––but every once in a while (for his own good, she told herself), she let a little leak through.

  Still, he was resistant. “From what they’re saying, you really don’t want to see this,” he said with a frown.

  “I’ll stay in the car,” she promised. “I’ll wait for you.” She didn’t want to leave him. It was bad enough that he was gone all day and she couldn’t follow him. She knew he felt the same way. Besides, if carnage had come to little Crescent City, she had a foreboding feeling that she had brought it with her.

  #

  Since Robert was the senior officer in the department and one of the few who had experience with homicides, they’d left a spot for his car near the edge of the crime scene. It was out on an old logging road, halfway up the coastal hills that loomed over the town: a small clearing with a campfire in the middle that still held some burning coals. Red plastic cups were everywhere, along with a couple of dented silver kegs. Logs and rocks circled the campfire, and many of them had been overturned.

  There was blood everywhere. Jamie could see a mass of flesh on one edge of the clearing, and on the other edge, another ripped-up body with bones showing. Near the fire was a young man lying on his back, with wide-open, unblinking eyes.

  Robert looked at her with concern and she smiled sadly at him. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve seen some things in my time.”

  He looked at her searchingly and seemed to find confirmation in her expression. He shook his head, as if to say, I really don’t know you that well, do I? “I can get one of the guys to take you home,” he offered, gesturing at a couple of uniformed officers.

  “No,” she said. She looked at the sky and could see a glimmer on the horizon. Maybe she should take him up on his offer… but she needed to know what had happened here. She could guess: Stuart. She was afraid that he’d come back.

  But more than one vampire was responsible for this bloodshed, and that concerned her. It was unusual for even one victim to be Turned. It happened maybe once in every twenty killings, and then only if circumstances were ideal, Horsham had told her. For more than one person to be Turned in such a short time was nearly unheard of.

  Her instincts told her she had a few hours of darkness left, so she shook her head. “I’ll wait, Robert. Do your thing.”

  He nodded, got out of the car, and was greeted by the short, fat cop who had accompanied him on the Fourth of July. The man’s eyes widened when he saw Jamie in the front seat.

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “It’s OK, Jerry. She’s a friend.” Robert straightened up and seemed to transform into the embodiment of law enforcement before her very eyes. She shivered a little and wondered how long she could keep her secret from a man like this. More to the point, how long did she want to keep her secret?

  “So what happened here, Jerry?” Robert asked crisply. “You said eight bodies. I only see three.”

  “The others are in the woods…” Jerry’s voice faded as they walked away, but Jamie, being a vampire, could still hear him. “It looks like they were chased down. It’s the damndest thing. Come on, I’ll show you…” They disappeared into the woods, out of earshot even for Jamie.

  White-suited crime scene techs were moving around the clearing, but no one was paying any attention to her. Without really planning to, she found herself getting out and investigating the bodies. She bent over each of them, sniffing.

  She’d made it to body number three when one of the techs spotted her and hurried over. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from there, you’ll contaminate the scene!”

  “Sorry,” she said, backing away. She’d found what she wanted. As impossible as it seemed, there had been four attackers. Something very unusual was happening here in Crescent City.

  Jamie started walking back to the car, hoping that Robert hadn’t seen her. She was passing by the undisturbed body at the center of the clearing when it suddenly sat up.

  She couldn’t help it: she let out a scream.

  Robert and Jerry came running, along with every other cop within hearing distance. They all skidded to a stop as their eyes went from her to the young man, who was trying to stand.

  The paramedics got over their shock, ran to him, and made him sit down again. “What’s your name, son?” she heard one of them ask.

  Robert watched all this with a frown. Then he turned and put his arm around Jamie’s shoulder and led her back to the car. “I’m taking you home. Now.”

  She didn’t argue. They didn’t speak as they drove back to his house. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Was he mad that she’d left the car? Or was he thinking only about how a victim the medics had declared dead had suddenly stood up?

  If anything, Jamie was more shocked at this turn of events than Robert was. According to Horsham, Turnings were rare, even if you left a pristine body, and even if that was the result you wanted. It was this, more than anything, that had kept vampires in check over the millennia. They could not reproduce any time they wanted or Turn whom they wanted, when they wanted.

  Not only that, but––as in her case––it usually took a few days for the transformation to take place. But this… this had to have happened in the course of a few hours. She’d assumed from what Robert had told her that Stuart hadn’t died, that he’d recovered. There hadn’t been any other logical explanation for his coming to inside the ambulance.

  But what if he had Turned? And what if it had taken only minutes?

  What if the line of vampires Terrill had founded was unlike any other line of vampires that had ever existed? Starting with her, it seemed as though every victim who had been left intact had Turned.

  What if vampires could pick who to Turn on a whim? What if, unimaginable as it seemed, everyone who was bitten became vampire? There would be no controlling that, no hiding it. It would mean all-out war between humans and vampires, and while the vampires were heavily outnumbered and outgunned now, this could rapidly change the equation. Vampires would have to come
out of hiding, and one side or the other would ultimately prevail.

  It would change everything. All the sacred Rules of Vampire would go out the window.

  Chapter 17

  Southern’s apartment was near the Thames, and he could see the London Eye from his balcony. He was one of the richest men in England and owned half of what he could see from there.

  Sometimes he’d sit for hours, as if hypnotized, watching the giant Ferris wheel turn. Any species that could create something like that had its good points. He didn’t hate humans, unlike some of his brethren. He rather liked them. He wanted to coexist with them.

  He undressed slowly while Miss Hoyt lay on the bed, her eyes wide, making what Southern interpreted as appreciative sounds through her gag. Living among humans as he did, he couldn’t afford to let her scream out during the incredible climaxes he was certain he would induce in her.

  He liked the sex first, the feeding second. Some vampires liked it the other way around, but that was too messy for him.

  He’d had his eye on Miss Hoyt for months. She worked in the front office of the bank where the Council met, a glorified receptionist. She had no idea who she was working for. She was an archeology buff, and he’d enticed her up to his room with an invitation to view the Royal Sigil.

  The story he’d concocted was that the slab of stone with the blue flower of his family crest painted on it had been found during a construction project. In truth, he’d had it in his possession for generations of mankind. It was proof that his family had always been blue bloods, both figuratively and literally.

  Miss Hoyt was tall and leggy, just the way he liked them. She had a rather horsey face, but who cared, especially since the gag covered most of her buckteeth. She was squirming, and he was anticipating a long evening punctuated by a frenzied feed, followed by a leisurely stroll in the early morning to dump her splintered bones into the river.

  As he climbed on top of her, Clarkson’s image came to him, as it usually did during sex. She was his colleague, his conspiratorial ally, but other than that, she showed no interest in him. As far as he knew, she’d never shown any interest in any man, woman, or vampire. But the colder she was to him, the more out of reach, the more turned on he was by her.

  She’d sent him a coded message that morning. Not only did she believe that the legendary Terrill would join their side, but she’d also revealed the extraordinary, if not impossible, news that Terrill had become human again.

  That was going to snag a fang in Fitzsimmons’s plans to take over the Council by packing it with his followers. A pattern had begun to emerge: Council members who urged restraint were being charged with crimes, one by one, and being replaced by hardliners. It was clear that Fitzsimmons and his followers intended to take over the Council and use the Rules to enforce their will.

  Miss Hoyt was squirming. I’m probably taking too long, Southern thought. Nothing like thinking about Council business to delay his satisfaction. He let himself feel the moment, and it was only a few seconds later that he shouted his climax and, at the same instant, bit into her neck. Her frantic movements slowed, then stopped, and then came that delicious moment when the blood turned a little cold.

  He finished her off, wrapped up what was left in the bedsheets, and took a shower. He was getting dressed for his walk down to the Thames when there came a pounding on his door.

  Southern had long ago created an escape route. If someone had started to break down the door, he would have jumped over the side of the balcony, slid down the rope he’d placed there, and been halfway down the block before the door was opened. But though the knocking was insistent, he didn’t sense a threat.

  He checked his watch. It was four in the morning, certainly not a strange time for a visit from another vampire. Did he have an appointment? Had someone mentioned coming by?

  He unlatched the door, holding Miss Hoyt in a bundle in one hand.

  Four of the Council’s enforcers slammed into him, throwing him to the floor. The bedsheet containing Miss Hoyt’s remains split at the seams and her bones rattled across the wood.

  Southern didn’t struggle. He’d seen how effective the Council’s goons were at controlling their victims. He’d seen how this played out.

  He wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when Fitzsimmons walked in the door, followed by Hargraves and Peterson. The inner circle, Southern realized, though until that moment, he’d thought Peterson was on their side.

  “You too, Peterson?” he said bitterly. “You’re with them?”

  “I’m with myself, Southern.” The fussy old man was unusually blunt. “And whoever the winning side is.”

  Hargraves laughed in agreement.

  Fitzsimmons rolled his eyes. “Not exactly the most sterling of motives, but I take what I can get.” He walked past Southern and opened the curtains onto the waning night. “Nice apartment,” he said. “It’s got good ‘fang shui.’”

  He walked back to Southern and stood over him. “You’re under arrest for violating Rule Three: Never feed where you live.”

  “I know what Rule Three is, you wanker!”

  “Well, we don’t want there to be any misunderstanding, do we? Is that Miss Hoyt?” Fitzsimmons asked, gesturing at the scattered bones. “I believe she works––that is, worked in our front office and was therefore out of bounds. Do you deny it?”

  “Of course not,” Southern said, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. This wasn’t a borderline case: he’d broken a Rule, there was no doubt about it. “But you all do it. You’ve done it a hundred times!”

  “Have I?” Fitzsimmons asked. “Strangely, there is no evidence of that. Hargraves? You guilty of anything? Peterson?”

  Both vampires silently shook their heads.

  “See,” Fitzsimmons said. “You just think everyone is guilty because you’re guilty.”

  “You won’t get away with it this time,” Southern said. “We’re on to you and your clique. You don’t have a majority yet, and I doubt you’ll get away with killing the head of the opposition.”

  “You’re probably right,” Fitzsimmons said. He pulled a polished stake out of his coat. “That’s why you were killed in an escape attempt, sadly. No one will doubt that, since there will be three Council members testifying to the fact. Right, Peterson? Hargraves?”

  Peterson looked a little squeamish, but Hargraves looked like a 10-year-old child about to be given ice cream: a 10-year-old child with 100-year-old eyes.

  Fitzsimmons knelt over Southern and placed the point of the stake over his heart. “Damn, I forgot to bring a mallet. Let’s see… oh, there it is: your precious Royal Sigil! Hand that rock over to me, Peterson. That ought to work.”

  “Wait!” Southern shouted desperately. “I’ll join you! Fuck the others––I’m on your side! I can tell you who all our agents are! I know things about Terrill you need to know!”

  “My dear Southern,” Fitzsimmons laughed. “There isn’t a single thing you know that I don’t already know.” He was enjoying this little drama. Ordinarily, he let others do the hands-on dirty work, but he had missed it. And since there was no one to stop him, he had decided he’d dispatch arrogant old Southern himself.

  He slammed the chunk of rock down on the stake. A fountain of blue blood sprang into the air, and Southern shrank before their eyes until he seemed to be nothing but skin, bones, fangs, and protruding eyes.

  “You can have him,” Fitzsimmons said, waving at the body disdainfully. Eating another vampire was a rare treat, and the enforcers fell on the body and started ripping into it. “Give me the keys to the car before you get them all bloody,” he ordered. He turned to Peterson and Hargraves. “We need to get to the airport. I believe Clarkson will be arriving with our prize sooner than poor Southern expected.”

  Chapter 18

  The private jet that was waiting for Sylvie and Terrill at the airport in Redmond, Oregon, was luxurious. It featured good-sized beds, but they were both too upset and anxious to try to sleep. Sylvie was a
little calmer than Terrill, but that was only because she didn’t know the stakes.

  Terrill laughed grimly to himself. He knew the stakes well––they were sharp and deadly.

  Once they were in the air, Clarkson sat down across from them.

  “Now we can talk,” she said, looking even more serious than usual. “I left the enforcers behind because I couldn’t be sure whose side they were on.”

  “I don’t understand,” Terrill said. “What do you need me for?”

  Clarkson cocked her head at him as if bemused. “You really don’t know, do you? You’re a legend, Terrill. When you disappeared from sight, you did something that no vampire has ever done, except for Michael, and you must know how he is regarded. You’ve nearly reached his level in the mythology of our kind.”

  Terrill shook his head ruefully. “By trying not to be vampire, I’ve become famous?”

  “Most vampires can’t imagine not feeding on humans––not even those of us who might like to try that. But you are also the author of the Rules of Vampire, which in your absence have become paramount.”

  “Still, I don’t understand. Are you saying some vampires are for the Rules and some are against them?”

  “No,” Clarkson said. “Most vampires are for the Rules; only a small element wants to eliminate them completely.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Clarkson hesitated. “This is where it gets complicated. Some well-meaning vampires thought that if the Rules worked so well when they were voluntary, making them mandatory would be even better. The problem comes in the enforcement. How do you interpret the Rules? How strong do you make the punishments?

  “Slowly but surely, the punishments have become more severe. At the same time, the interpretations of the Rules have become stricter, so that just about any vampire can be charged with violating one or the other of them. It has become political. It has become about power.”