Wicked Game (27 page)

He grunts and continues. “You wouldn’t be working at the station if we held no attraction. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to be one of us?” He holds up one finger. “Before you answer, you should know I can read a lie even better than you can.”

Of course. He can hear my heartbeat, probably feel my body temperature rise and fall.

I clear my throat and look away. “Of course I’ve wondered. Everyone does, even people who don’t believe in vampires.” With an effort, I speak to his face, though not his eyes. “But I don’t envy you. I like sunshine, I like food. Plus, I wouldn’t want to outlive all my friends and family.”

“Family?” His dark gaze sharpens. “You’re close to your family?”

“Not now. But maybe someday. If I were a vampire, I’d have to leave them behind forever.”

“No.” He stands and begins to pace, slowly. “My father was a vampire. Rather than abandon his children, he turned each of us at the age of thirty-three. For me it was 1918.” He smooths his brown, pinstriped waistcoat, regarding it like a window to the past. “Later that year I did the same to my son. He took ill with the Spanish flu and within a day was at death’s door. It was an easy choice. He was only fifteen, with his whole life before him.”

“Is your son here with you?”

Gideon slides his hands into his trouser pockets and regards the floor. “He was always intractable, especially after death. I tried to teach him to keep out of humans’ way, and for several decades he stayed at my side, though never satisfied. Ten years ago he left me, headed west, and began hunting people indiscriminately, like a rabid animal.”

Gideon turns the radio volume down to near silence. “The Control and I came to an agreement, that upon his capture, they would bring him here, where I would deal with him. In exchange I allowed them to inspect my compound to ensure I wasn’t harming humans.”

His hands form fists inside his pockets. “Naturally the traitorous worms double-crossed me. One of their agents staked Antoine in Memphis.”

Antoine?
My heart gives a sudden pound.
Memphis?
David said Elizabeth’s maker was a teenager in human years. It couldn’t be ...

Gideon pauses, examining me, then begins to pace again. “They claimed it was a rogue agent going against orders, but they wouldn’t give up the man’s name, so I could never confirm their story. I had no choice but to believe it a sanctioned assassination.” He stops and looks at me. “Now you know why I staked Elizabeth, why I lured her here in the first place.”

He knows who she was. He staked his own—what, granddaughter?

I try to stay calm, keep bluffing. “I thought you brought us here to threaten the station into anonymity.” Fear makes my lips flub the last word, so that it comes out “anemone.”

“That as well. I’ve ended your silly and dangerous campaign, and avenged Antoine’s death. You could say I’ve killed two birds with one stake.”

I lower my gaze, my mind racing. So he murdered Elizabeth because she was a Control agent, not because of her relationship to his son, which he doesn’t seem to know about.

But he could find out. I have to warn David. He and Elizabeth wouldn’t have come here if they’d known Gideon was her maker’s maker. Someone in the Control’s upper ranks got careless or arrogant or both.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Gideon says softly.

I shiver, but keep staring at the floor at my feet. “I was just thinking, I didn’t know vampire lives could be so dramatic. It’s terrible what happened to Anthony.”

“Antoine.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Gideon’s silence seems to consume all the air in the room. He moves toward me, closer and closer, until his shoes enter my line of sight, less than a foot away.

When he speaks, his voice is low and soft. “Today you will learn that with a few exceptions, we are not so monstrous. Perhaps you will decide to stay.” When I don’t respond, he turns for the door. “And Ciara. Should you entertain any thoughts of escape, know this: If I don’t find you in your room at sunset, your gentleman friend here will be staked. Slowly. Have a pleasant day.”

As soon as the door shuts and locks, Jim sits straight up in bed.

I yelp and nearly choke on my own breath. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was faking it to maintain the element of surprise.”

“It worked. On me.”

“Besides, that girl was so coked up, I may never sleep again.” He runs shaky hands through his curls. “We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?”

“Do you think Gideon knows who killed his son?”

“No, but the fact that your pulse skyrocketed when he said Antoine’s name probably made him suspicious.”

“I couldn’t help it. What are we going to do?”

He looks around. “First we’re going to find my pants.”

I retrieve them from the corner and turn away to look for his shirt while he puts them on. I find it under the bed—a VMP Lifeblood of Rock ’n’ Roll T-shirt.

“We’ll have to stop selling these.” I hand it back to Jim as he zips up his jeans. “T-shirts, bumper stickers. It’s all over.”

“But now that Elizabeth’s dead, at least she can’t sell to Skywave.” Jim pulls the shirt over his head. “Right?”

My stomach plummets to the vicinity of my knees. “Elizabeth told us she decided not to sell.”

“Did she tell Skywave?”

“I doubt she had the chance yet. It sounded like she’d just decided tonight.” I sink onto the bed and put my head in my hands. “If she’s dead, with no next of kin, then the business will be liquidated and its assets auctioned off.”

Shane’s voice returns to the radio. “It’s five fifty-four on a Tuesday. Thanks to everyone who called in to express support—”

“Liquidated?” Jim says to me. “You mean it would be—”

“Turned into cash. Hold on, I want to hear this.” I go to the radio and turn up the volume.

“—asked about VMP merchandise,” Shane continues. “Sorry, but we won’t be selling any more, so hang on to what you have. You got yourselves some sweet collector’s items.”

Jim seizes my shoulder. “The station’ll be sold for parts? Like a broken-down car?”

“Pretty much.”

He curses and starts to pace. I lean closer to hear Shane over Jim’s muttering.

“—official press release later today detailing the disturbing incident that made us decide to end the campaign. So look for our pretty faces on the evening news.”

“All these years I put in,” Jim huffs. “I’m not a fucking asset!”

I turn to glare at him. “You’re less than an asset, you’re an employee. Now would you shut up for two seconds?”

Jim’s rant grows louder. I press one ear against the speaker and plug the other with my finger.

“This last song goes out to those of you who greet this morning wondering if this could be your last sunrise. I’ve been there, many times. Parents, preachers, and politicians think rock music is the source of young people’s despair. They don’t understand it’s just a reflection. They also forget that music can be a source of hope, a reason to live.”

“I gotta get out of this place.” Jim rattles the knob, then pounds on the solid wood. “Hey! Open the goddamn door!”

I press my ear against the speaker. What if it’s my last “last song”? I think about falling asleep in Shane’s arms last night, and a ball of anger forms inside me. If I die and miss out on sex with my hottest boyfriend ever, I’m going to be so pissed.

Jim slams the door again and again with his shoulder. I close my eyes and soak in the voice from afar.

“—music still has any power left in the world, I hope it can bring you strength. Good morning, and good—”

Jim picks up the radio, yanking the cord out of the outlet, and hurls it against the door. The radio shatters, but the door stands solid.

I stare at the silent, splintered pieces of what used to be my lifeline. “You are such an asshole.”

Jim cracks his knuckles and nods, his breath slowing. “But I’m an asshole who feels better now.”

“You couldn’t wait ten more seconds?”

“Sorry.” He sighs and sits heavily on the bed. “It’s not so bad, you know. Being a vampire. It’s actually pretty far out.”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

He stares at the ceiling. “Hard to say. It just kind of happened, and I went with the flow, you know?”

“How much do you remember?”

“I remember the Doors were playing onstage. It took the whole set for me to die. They took their time with me. They took turns.”

“The Doors?” I had no idea.

“No, the vampires.”

I hold my wrists in my hands, feeling both pulses. “What’s it like to die?”

“For me it was really psychedelic. But it’s probably like any trip—you get out of it what you put into it. Spiritually, I mean.” Jim regards me with an inscrutable expression. “If it happens, I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt.”

I give a bitter laugh. “Not hurt. Just killed.” He seems dismayed, so I add, “Thanks for staying with me.”

He waves off my gratitude. “What you said down there to Gideon, about all of us being people—did you mean that, or was it just a speech?”

“I meant it, but after what happened to Elizabeth I don’t know what’s true anymore. Maybe I was talking out my ass.”

The idiom seems to confuse him. “Anyway, thanks for sticking up for us.” He thinks for a moment, then furrows his brow. “So you’re not really a crappy poker player?”

“Welcome to Gideon’s Lair! You must be Ciara. I’m Ned, Ned Amberson. Welcome to Gideon’s Lair. Did I say that already? That’s because you’re welcome.”

The bald young man with sapphire eyes is still shaking my hand. His grip is warm, self-assured, and definitely human. Lawrence stands with him outside my room.

“Tour time!” Ned gestures for me to precede him down the hallway. Lawrence casually shoves Jim back through the door like a bouncer with an insufficiently cool patron, then locks it, muffling the younger vampire’s protests.

Ned continues chattering as we pass a series of closed doors. “I’ve heard so much about you. I really think you’ll fit in. So what did you do before you came here?”

He speaks as if my joining the cult is a done deal. Typical sales talk: act like the customer’s already bought the
product—and had a choice in the first place. I glance back at Lawrence, who follows several paces behind.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ned says. “He won’t be able to come all the way up with us. It’s well past sunrise. Here, you probably could use one of these.” He leads me to a door with a familiar sign:
LADIES.
I rush in, grateful.

When I come out, Ned begins the tour, walking backward as he speaks. “On this level, as you know, we have our guest rooms. Singles on the west end—” He points behind him. “—couples and families to the east.”

“Families?”

“Children are welcome, as are pets, as long as they don’t cause trouble.”

“The pets or the children?”

Without answering my question, he opens a door on my left. “By earning points, guests can work their way up to better living quarters.”

I peer in to see what looks like a tastefully decorated hotel suite, four-star accommodations compared to the rattrap I share with Jim. “What do you mean, earn points?”

“For the nourishment we provide, as well as other services, such as laundry, groundskeeping, child care.”

“Sounds like a commune.” Or a prison. I wonder which “guests” get to make license plates.

Ned nods as if I’ve said something profound. “Very much like a commune. The guests help each other and help the vampires in exchange for a place to stay and a meaningful life.”

I step back into the hallway. “Can a guest lose points?”

Ned’s serene composure flickers for a moment. “Of course,” he says. “Some need carrots, others need sticks.”

I wonder what happens when one’s points dip below zero, but decide not to ask. If I can keep this Ned guy on my side, he’ll reveal more information—maybe something I can use to get us out of this mess.

We reach the staircase. To my relief, we go up instead of down, but Lawrence still follows us.

“Where do the vampires sleep during the day?” I ask Ned.

“On the bottom level. That’s not part of the tour.”

The wide-open basement appears at the top of the stairs. On the love seat, a man about my age lounges in the arms of an older woman with heavy red lipstick.

“We’ll move on,” Ned says. “Someone’s having a bedtime snack.”

The woman dips her head to the man’s neck, and I realize it’s not lipstick darkening her mouth. Rather than cry out, the man just sits there watching
Regis and Kelly
on the black-and-white TV He might as well be donating blood at the Red Cross.

As we climb the next staircase, Lawrence stays behind. The last thing I see is him stalking toward the love seat, fangs out.

Ned hurries me to the top. Just before the door shuts, a pair of screams ring out from the family room below.

My skin jumps. “What was that?”

Ned shrugs. “That was rank having its privileges. Want some breakfast? Might as well eat food while you can still enjoy it.”

My stomach lurches, telling me I’ve already had my last enjoyable meal.

He leads me into a bright kitchen, where a thirtyish woman and a teenage boy sit at the breakfast bar. They stare at me apprehensively, then grab their plates and head for the back porch.

“Don’t worry, people will be more polite once you’re here for good. Not that they’ll have much choice.” Ned opens the refrigerator with a flourish. I haven’t seen a fridge so crammed with food since the turn of the century—the last Thanksgiving at my foster parents’. “We grow most of our own food,” Ned says, “to minimize trips to the all-night supermarket down in Frederick. The vampires escort us whenever we go off-site.” He sidles to the counter and whips a cloth napkin off a plate. “We even bake our own bread.”

On the plate sits a foot-high stack of bagels. Ned grabs one and starts tearing it in half crosswise with his fingers. No knives here, apparently. I wonder if it’s to prevent suicide or homicide or both. Ned’s blue polo shirt covers the waistband of his khakis, so I can’t tell if belts are disallowed.