“So, who is this Jack?” Gina interrupted to ask point blank, and Lillian scowled at her meddling butler.
“Don’t look at Reggie like that, Lillian. We both know that I am capable of reading anything I desire of you.”
“Perhaps once upon a time you could.” Lillian replied coolly, and she came further into the room. Gina’s sapphire eyes burned into her then, and Lillian stared straight back, unbending. Concentrating, she blocked all thoughts of Jack Stone from her mind, and tried to think of nothing at all.
“Stone.” Gina said, reading only Jack’s last name of Lillian, and then in frustration she leaned forward, staring harder. A moment later, she leaned back, giving up. “You’re getting good at this.” she commented and Lillian smiled proudly.
“I’ve had years of practice.”
“Against who?” Gina returned her smile.
“Good point.” Lillian countered. She knew of no other vampires these days, and had not seen Gina in fifty years. “So, tell us where you have been?
Rome?” she seated herself upon the opposite sofa.
“Among other places.
London.” Gina relented. “And you?”
“We tried out
New Orleans for a while. San Antonio, Houston.” Lillian shrugged. “I always seem to end up back here.”
“As do I.” Gina replied. “How have you been?”
“She grows colder by the night, My Lady.” Reginald chose that moment to speak up, and Gina turned to look at the old man.
“Until this Jack Stone came along.” Gina said after a moment’s thought.
“Reginald!” Lillian called loudly in an accusing tone. “Could you please bring us some tea?”
Gina smiled knowing that Lillian had caught on to the fact that she was reading the butler for her information concerning Jack. “Tell me about this Jack. Is he a good man?” Her interest was peaked and Lillian knew the subject would not be dropped until Gina was appeased.
“He seems to be very much so.” Lillian relented after a moment.
“As did Ewan.” Gina was not kind to remind her. Lillian frowned.
“Yes, but Jack is not one of us. He does not hold tight to the power of persuasion.”
“No? A mortal, hmm? What use do you find with him?” Gina asked curiously as Reginald rose to get the tea Lillian had asked for. Josh stopped the old man before he had fully risen from his seat, and offered to do the tedious task for his grandfather. Lillian sent a
scowl the young man’s way that Josh ducked his head away from her for.
“He is a good man.” Lillian stumbled slightly over her words.
“As you have already stated.” Gina pressed. “You feel something for him.” Gina was suddenly astonished to read of Lillian. Lillian didn’t reply; instead she stood and walked to the fireplace. Standing beside Troy, who gave her a sympathetic smile, she leaned toward the mantle and cleared her mind.
“Tell us of your adventures in Rome.” she tried, hoping that Gina would drop the subject of Jack and of things that Lillian did not want to share at this particular moment in time.
Gina must have taken mercy on her because suddenly Gina had them all enraptured with stories of Rome, and of the things she had seen and done there. Of course, Gina’s stories were not of the hunt, but of plays and balls, of operas, and concerts in the park. If ever there was a more cultured woman, Lillian did not know her. Gina had been everywhere, had absorbed everything like an overzealous child. She loved to learn new things, to better herself, she claimed. She mingled with the mortals, but she kept herself at an emotional distance from them as well. She thought of them as she would her studies. She used them only when necessary, when it was beneficiary to her mind or nourishment. It had been Gina who had taught Lillian never to drink from the innocent. They both believed in sparing the innocent and seeking out only the most corrupt of the mortals. Gina was a true believer in the punishing of the evil ones, but they both knew that the real reason they never took from the innocent was because they feared losing what precious few memories they possessed of their mortality.
“The woman on the rooftop last night, who was she?” Gina suddenly turned and asked.
“A mortal, an evil doer.” Lillian shrugged.
“And you did not take her why?” Gina asked stonily. Lillian stared down at her hands.
“I did not take her because of Jack,” she thought, but she caught herself before the thoughts went any further, not wanting Gina to know everything about Jack or what she felt for him.
“You care what this man thinks of you?” Gina accused, and Lillian lifted her gaze to meet Gina’s. They steadily stared at each other in a few seconds of challenge.
“We were scared to death when Gina carried you in here last night.” Troy spoke up, sensing that she needed a change of subject. “There was so much blood. I worried that you wouldn’t make it.” He sounded as if he was still worried, Lillian looked over at the handsome man, recalling the strong feelings that his mind had confessed to her not so long ago.
“I’m fine,
Troy. Thank you.” Lillian smiled softly just as Josh rolled a silver cart into the room. On the cart, set a silver tea set. All was silent as Josh filled a china cup with dainty, hand-painted roses along the handle, and handed it to his grandfather.
“I brought five cups.” Josh laughed. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry.” he laughed at his own stupidity.
He offered a cup to Troy, who shook his dark head to decline. Josh prepared himself a cup and then retook his seat next to Lillian. His light blue eyes met Lillian’s, and Lillian could see that he was very uncomfortable now sitting in the same room with two killers.
“
Gina would never harm you, Josh.” Lillian took mercy on the young man, sending her reassuring thoughts to Josh’s troubled, nervous mind. Josh swallowed, and nearly spilt his tea, when her words hit his mind, and Gina from across the way laughed out.
“The mortals are such fun when they are still in training, are they not, Lillian?” Gina smiled, and Lillian smiled in return. She had had fun teasi
ng Josh in the past, but lately she felt herself becoming more and more protective of the young man. She found that she longed to comfort him now, to make him feel more at ease around her.
“You are softening.” Gina accused, turning serious. Lillian lifted her gaze to meet the sapphire eyes of her dark mother. Quickly, Lillian cleared her mind.
“How long do you plan to stay with us?” she asked of Gina.
“I’m beginning to believe I may be an intrusion.” Gina leaned comfortably back.
“No. Not at all.” Lillian countered, and she beamed a friendly smile. “If not for you, I would not be here this night. Of course, you are not an intrusion! You are a welcome guest. My home is yours for as long as you wish!”
“And the city?” Gina’s dark brow rose curiously.
“That is another matter. It seems there is another vampire in the vicinity, and he or she, whichever the matter may be, is making quite the mess for me out there. The attention that is being drawn makes it unwise for me to continue to hunt here.” Lillian explained as best as she knew how.
“You have
not come into contact with this other?” Gina worried
“No.”
“Perhaps, it is best if it stays that way.” Gina said wisely. “Then what shall we dine upon this evening? Rats?” she stood, tossing a smile back over her shoulder when Josh sucked in his breath. Rats? They had not dined upon the blood of animals in over a century. There had been no need. The blood the mortals offered lasted them for more than a week. It was substantial, and so much more nourishing than that of animals. It also tasted better!
“Rats?”
Troy asked curiously as he came further into the room.
“Not the preferred cuisine.” Gina smiled. “But sometimes, helpful when one needs to be discreet.”
“Ah.” Troy mused. “I’m not sure where one would find rats in the city. There is such a thing as an Exterminator these days.” he smiled teasingly.
“The sewers are riddled with the disgusting creatures, but I was merely teasing with Lillian.” Gina said, making a face. “I will just have to be careful in my dealings.” Gina decided, which meant to Lillian that Gina did indeed tend to go on with her hunt in the city. Damn!
Chapter twenty-two
The Internet was packed full of stories or rather urban legends concerning creatures of the night, and the so called vampire. Jack stayed up most of the night reading over ridiculous information that should be saved for cheesy novels and horror films for all he cared. Ridiculous! He knew that there was no such thing as vampires, but someone, or more than likely more than just one person, was going through an awful lot of trouble to make them believe otherwise.
Dr. Harold had told them that they were dealing with two different killers, but the question now was, were these two killers working together? It wouldn’t be entirely unusual, Jack rubbed the evening whiskers on his stern chin. Statistically, a serial killer liked to act alone. It wasn’t undone, a se
rial killer taking on a partner; it just wasn’t the norm, but sometimes two or more worked together, competing with each other to see who would be man enough to take it a step further! Each kill seemed to get more grotesque . It was a game to them. Six bodies had been found now, Jack thought in saddened regret. Two had been found at the last scene. The crimes were getting nastier, he realized. Jack leaned back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. He had worked with the FBI today, had spoken to Agent Darcy, a veteran who had graduated top of his class out at Quantico some twelve years ago. Darcy was a profiler with ten solid years of experience beneath his belt. Some men were just born to do that sort of work, figure out the demented mind of a serial killer, and Agent Darcy was one of the best. Jack had worked with the man before, and though Jack considered the man to basically be a dick, Jack did admire his work. The man was as smart as a whip. No, he was a genius!
“So, are you going to give me your take on this, or what?” Jack had asked earlier that morning over day old coffee, and a desk top full of scattered, crime scene photos. Darcy had fingered the corner of a photograph tagging the two dead men from Helen Rogers’ apartment, and Jack had wondered what he was thinking.
“It’s complicated.” Darcy had said, deep in concentration, and Jack had looked at him as if saying, “No duh!”
Darcy had frowned for good measure, and then he had said quite calmly, “It’s obvious you’re dealing with two separate killers here, Stone.” He’d heard that one already, Jack thought, thinking of Dr. Harold.
“Go on.” Jack was impressed that the Agent had come up with the same answers that they had, but he knew that he was about to be more impressed. Agent Darcy was very capable of delivering a long list
of information that on his own Jack knew he would not be able to come up with. Agent Darcy could look at the same crime scene that twenty other men had already examined, and tell you twenty different things about the guy who had committed the crime. It was amazing really, how the agent’s mind was able to somehow psychologically connect with that of a murderer. Silently, Jack wondered if the Agent had managed to stay unaffected after the long years of dealing with the perverse, jaded minds of the criminally insane.
“One killer’s clean, gets in there, gets the job done. This one.” he said, pausing to think it over. “Let’s just say she has a lingering sense of right and wrong. She feels remorse for what she has done. That’s why she gets it over quick, doesn’t leave any blood. She doesn’t want to see the blood because it reminds her that what she has done is wrong. She doesn’t like herself much. She commits murder, but she tells herself it isn’t really murder because the ones she chooses to kill have soiled reputations, so to speak.” Darcy moved the photo of the dead men aside, and picked up another. This one was a bloody mess. Rita Gallenger, Jack noted.
“And the other?” Jack stared at the photo intently.
“The other, now this one is a full-fledged psychopath. He feels no remorse. He enjoys what he does. The bloodier, the messier, the better. He likes to toy with his victims, think of him as a cat that likes to bat around the mouse it has just caught f
or its own amusement. He gets off on the terrified, rapid-beating hearts of his victims. He likes the feeling of being in control of other‘s fates, likes to perhaps, let his victims believe that maybe, just maybe if they beg him just the right way he may let them live. Of course, he never does.” Agent Darcy lifted his balding head, and tossed the photograph back down on the pile atop Jack’s desk. “All along he knows the end result will be the victim’s death, but he likes to let them believe they have a chance, likes to watch their struggle.” He went on with his conclusions.
“Shit.” Jack cursed beneath his breath, and Agent Darcy had nodded confirmation.
“Are they competing with each other? Is that what is going down here?” Jack made an educated guess.
“Not competing.” Agent Darcy met Jack’s gaze and held it. “Two killers, one invading the other’s territory. The Psycho is getting pissed. He wants all the attention, you see. I wo
uldn’t be surprised if our girl,” Agent Darcy tapped on a photograph of Arthur Miller next. “Ends up as one of our victims soon.”