In Darkness We Must Abide: The Complete Second Season: Episodes 6-10 (34 page)

Lifting one of the bags to her mouth, her teeth elongated within her mouth as the hunger stirred.

“We have to feed,” Angel said soberly. “To be strong.”

“Do it,” Emily urged, her blue eyes bright.

Alisha’s sharp fangs punctured the bag and she fed.

Vanora didn’t want to argue with her sister, so she hurriedly escaped out the front door. Armando followed in her wake, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. Together, they strode past the security van where Morgan stood with her people. She gave Armando a brisk nod, then continued briefing the night shift guards.

In the garage, Vanora entered the security code to the key box and grabbed the set for Roman’s Mercedes convertible. The rumble of Sheila’s Harley drew Vanora’s attention to the entrance of the garage doors. Alexander sat behind his partner, his arm around her waist while Sheila adjusted her leather gloves.

“Just follow us there,” Sheila called out.

Tossing the keys to Armando, Vanora scooted around Alisha’s car and Roman’s SUV to the convertible. Once settled in the leather seat, she set her bag at her feet and buckled herself in.

“Roman never let me drive this car,” Armando mused as the engine purred to life.

“Me neither. But he’s not here,” Vanora said sadly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to drive?”

“I can’t drive stick,” Vanora lamented.

Shifting gears, Armando edged the classic car out of the garage and onto the drive. Sheila sped off and Armando drove after the growling motorcycle.

Armando ran his hand lightly over the steering wheel. “This is a beautiful car. I had one like it back in 1962. It was red though.”

“1962...” Vanora mused. “God, you’re old.”

“Forever twenty-two,” he corrected her.

“Nah, old.”

Armando adamantly shook his head. “Forever young and handsome.”

“Who told you that you’re handsome?” Vanora teased.

“Oh, I
know
I’m handsome,” Armando assured her.

Even with the top up, Vanora felt a draft fluttering against her exposed neck and face. She wrapped her scarf around her throat in an attempt to stay warm. “Says who?”

“Your lips on my-”

“Armando!” Immediately, her face flushed at the memory of her first blow job. He had seemed to enjoy it, but she didn’t want to
talk
about it.

“-on my lips!” He grinned rakishly at her.

Despite the direness of the situation, she couldn’t help but smile back at him. It was a horribly schizophrenic time in her life. Terrible things were happening, yet at the same time she had him. How could anything good exist among such pain?

“And that look on your face is further confirmation.”

“It’s not all about your sultry Spanish good looks, Armando, or your pretty amber eyes.”

Whipping the little car around a corner in order to keep up with the speeding motorcycle, Armando nodded somberly. “I know. It’s the big dick.”

“Oh, my God!” Vanora guffawed. She knew he was teasing her to keep her spirits up and she did appreciate it. “Did you really just say that?”

“I’m sure it’s much bigger than that idiot Dan’s.”

“I wouldn’t know since I never saw the idiot’s penis. Yours, for your information, is the only one I’ve seen in real life.” Vanora felt the heat in her face rising again, but she was also smiling.

Armando took another curve, the tires squealing. “Well, if you had seen or experienced others, you would know what I’m saying is true.”

Vanora appreciated what he was trying to say to her in a subtle way. Dan’s hang up on her supposed purity had really hurt. To have value placed on her only because of her supposed virginity had stabbed deep into her. It was as if none of her other qualities mattered.

“Well, I only want yours,” she said at last.

“Good. Then I don’t have to kill anyone.”

Rolling her eyes, Vanora watched as Sheila maneuvered the Harley through the evening traffic. Alexander’s long black hair flowed in the wind like a rippling flag. A few times the turns they took were so sharp, Vanora thought their knees would brush the ground.

Armando, meanwhile, seemed to be relishing driving the sports car. Vanora admired the wicked look that crossed Armando’s face. “Why that grin?”

“Just memories of the car I had like this one.”

“Uh huh.”

“I crashed it spectacularly,” Armando continued.

“And you’re proud of that fact?”

The grin on his face diminished just a tad. “Well, I was racing an old friend. He thought he could beat me. I proved him wrong.”

“By crashing the car.”

“I crashed the car after I beat him,” Armando said proudly.

Vanora sensed there was much more to the story. “So where is this old friend now?”

Sobering, Armando shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. We grew apart.”

It was a reminder of just how long Armando had lived. He was speaking of events that predated not only her birth, but her mother’s. “I guess time does that, huh?”

“It can,” Armando admitted.

“It’s not always been good, has it? Living so long?” Vanora couldn’t imagine living so long. It was almost beyond the realm of comprehension.

“Some eras were very good. There are other times that are best forgotten.” The look he bestowed on her made her heart flutter. “I have hopes that the best has yet to come.”

Sheila’s motorcycle swerved onto a dimly lit street lined with rundown bars. The black Mercedes followed, then slowly turned into the parking lot of the Go Girls Klub. A neon dancer flashed at passersby, inviting them into the smoky atmosphere of the small strip club. Vanora slipped out of the car and ran her hand over the Celtic cross tucked beneath her scarf. The atmosphere of the place was sleazy, but she supposed it suited an incubus.

“Well, let’s find out what this guy has to say,” Armando said, and took her by the arm.

Sheila and Alexander strode toward them in all their sleek leather glory. Alexander’s dark hair feathered back from his face as he gently took Sheila’s slim hand. He appeared concerned and alert.

“Is something wrong?” Vanora asked.

Alexander handed over his cellphone and pointed to the message.

“Are Angela and Becky vampires?” Vanora asked after reading a short text announcing that the two women were missing.

Alexander nodded.

“They’re newer vampires. They weren’t at Roman’s party. I tried to call around and warn everyone last night after Roman...” Sheila hesitated, her emotions getting the best of her. “I tried to warn as many people as possible.”

“There are a lot more vampires in the city than I know about, isn’t there?” Vanora handed back Alexander’s phone and gave the vampires a questioning look.

“Roman drew them here. Since we’ve eschew human blood, it’s easy for us to exist here,” Sheila answered.

“Vampire populations in cities are usually much lower when they’re feeding off of humans. It’s a territorial thing,” Armando explained.

“So Roman drew in...what...hundreds of vampires to this city?” Vanora felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it. How many had come here to die during the coming purge?

“Over a thousand. Close to two thousand,” Sheila replied. “They didn’t all go to the mansion. Roman was much more mobile over the last few years. He would meet with individual groups. Not even we know who all of them are.”

“So if this purge theory is correct...” Vanora faltered. It was overwhelming to think of so many dying because they followed Roman.

Scrolling through the messages on his phone, Alexander sighed. The stainless steel rings on his fingers caught the street lamp as he reviewed the information pouring in. Tilting her head, Sheila read from the screen.

“More missing?” Armando asked.

With a somber expression, Sheila nodded. “Armando, I think Alexander and I should get back to the mansion after we get you inside. Next to you, we’re the strongest.”

“You drank from humans,” Armando stated in a somber tone.

Alexander and Sheila nodded in unison.

“We need to protect Alisha,” Sheila said to Vanora. “You understand, right?”

Dread filling her, Vanora bowed her head. Her throat felt tight with fear. “Yes, I do.”

Instead of entering the club through the front door, they walked into the dank alley and knocked on the battered red door that read Employees Only. Armando’s eyes kept flickering about the alley, his body tensed. Vanora clenched her hands at her side, attempting not to let fear get the best of her.

The door swung open an inch or two and a topless blonde regarded them coolly. “Who are you?”

“We’re here to see Greg,” Sheila answered.

The blonde chewed on her gum for a second with a sly grin on her face. “Everyone is always looking for his hotness. Wait here.”

The door squeaked shut.

“The incubus is named Greg?” Vanora said with surprise.

“Assumed name. His real name is hard to pronounce and comes with the smell of brimstone,” Sheila answered.

When the door opened again a chubby, short, rather regular-looking guy stood in the doorway. His black t-shirt said SECURITY and his dark red hair was slicked back from a face adorned with a bushy handlebar mustache.

“Hey, Sheila, hot as always in your skinny Goth way,” he said with a very bland voice. “Still with the poster boy for bad poetry, I see.”

Alexander casually gave him the bird.

“Greg, these are my friends, Vanora and Armando. They’d like to talk to you about Carlotta.” Sheila’s thin face looked even gaunter in the red light flowing out from behind the demonic bouncer.

“Armando, huh?” Greg regarded Armando thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“It’s important that we speak to you,” Vanora said, hoping to get inside the building and not linger in the open.

“You have no idea how important it is that
you
do speak to me, sweetie.”

“This is the incubus?” Armando asked incredulously.

Sheila nodded, gesturing toward the man with an annoyed look upon her face. “The one and only...Greg.”

“Greg Brady at your service” the incubus said, winking.

“Greg Brady?” Vanora lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

The demon whipped out his wallet and flashed his I.D. “Well, in this incarnation I am. This name has got me a whole lot of action over the years. It’s a great opener,” He grinned before adding, “of thighs.”

“Greg, could you behave? Your mojo doesn’t work on vamps or witches, remember?” Sheila shook her head with aggravation.

“Too bad,” Greg lamented. “I haven’t had me some white albino meat in a long time.”

Armando took a threatening step forward, but Vanora scooted in front of him. “Let’s cut the bullshit, Greg. You want to talk to me. I want to talk to you. Let’s do this.”

Pointing a pudgy finger at Vanora, Greg said, “I like her. I can see why she’s the main course of this disaster.”

Vanora suspected that the cold chills that washed over her at his words were exactly the response the incubus hoped to inspire. With a cocky grin, he summoned them inside.

“We’ll see you later,” Sheila said as she and Alexander began to walk back to their bike.

“We’ll keep in touch,” Armando answered while Vanora waved.

“Not sticking around?” Greg pretended to be wounded. “Can’t contain yourself if you stick around, can you, Sheila?”

Flipping him off, Sheila strutted away.

“She wants me,” Greg said confidently to Vanora.

“I doubt it,” Vanora answered.

Greg grinned, and motioned them to follow him. “C’mon.”

The incubus escorted them along a dingy, murky hallway. The smoke machines in the club were pumping vanilla-scented vapor into the air that mingled with the scent of sweaty bodies. The loud music, chatter, and bar noises wafted through the thick atmosphere. Female laughter issued out of a few open doorways, but Greg guided them past the dressing rooms to a small office.

“Greg, I thought we were going to take our break together,” a very leggy and beautiful young woman with thick dark hair called out from a doorway they had passed. Fingers lightly stroking under her bare nipple, she gave the unattractive man a smoldering look.

“Later, sweetness. Gotta work.”

Another woman stuck her head out of the dressing room, her bright red hair tumbling around her face. “But you promised…”

“Later, dolls. Later.” Greg waved Vanora and Armando into the office.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Vanora whispered to the vampire.

“He
is
an incubus…” Armando answered with distaste.

The office door shut behind them.

One wall held a bank of black and white monitors revealing different parts of the club, while another held a rack of costumes in dry cleaning bags. Waving them to a pair of battered folding metal chairs, Greg slumped onto the cracked vinyl office chair in front of the security desk and swiveled toward them.