The Vampire's Retribution, page 23
But this time, he stared in disbelief.
A cloudy image peered back—one that hadn’t been seen in centuries. High cheekbones, straight nose, and an angular face…unmistakably his. Leaning into the mirror, he couldn’t see his eyes. But it was his reflection, something lost the night he’d been sired. It was one thing that set a vampire apart from humanity. As much as it fascinated him, it frightened him as well.
He walked through the bedroom, closed the door, and then strode across the dining room. He hooked every set of brocade drapes and opened every window pushing the shutters to the bricks, studying the quiet street below.
“It’s overcast today, researcher. There’s no sunlight.”
He heard Miles set down his cup of morning coffee. “That may not be wise.”
“Who are you kidding? They know I’m here. It’s only a matter of time. I know you’re still staring at me. You and I must talk.”
His walk to the kitchen was slow. Opening the fridge, he reached for a glass container and quickly draining the blessed blood. He took a mug off the rack, and with a cup of black coffee in hand, he sat across from the researcher and began in a low voice.
“First, tell the Georgians how much I appreciate their support, no matter what happens to me. Second, I am truly sorry for dragging you and everyone in this building into it—for putting you in those evil bastards’ line of fire—my son, the woman I love… It’s gonna get messy.” His brow tightened feeling deep respect for the man across from him. Folding his hands on the table, he leaned in to close the distance between them. “Please forgive me. I honestly regret this. I feel it coming, and I want everyone at San Giorgio’s by sunset. Take Thorn with you.”
The researcher ripped off his reading glasses and threw them on the table, shooting him a glare. “We will not comply. You’re not going to upset my daughter or your son, or our routines, for that matter, until we know for certain there is no other avenue. Look, we have three among us who can sense danger. You cannot second-guess the next move. What utter foolishness! Try forcing Alana and Lukas to leave tonight, and you’ll have World War Three to contend with. No. Let it play out, or one of them will get hurt trying to be at your side—again.”
The curt reply hung heavy in the air. Finally, Michael leaned back. “I’ll accept your words for now, but I want a promise. When the time comes, you will get everyone to the church without hesitation—without questions.”
He kept a fierce expression on his face until Miles gave a quick “Of course.”
“Good. Now I need your cell phone.” He held out his hand as the researcher reached into his trouser pocket and produced the phone with a curious expression. When he got to the door, Miles stood in full panic. “You cannot go out there! It’s daylight, hazy daylight, but the sun—”
“I’m not leaving the building. Relax. I’ll be back soon.”
****
Michael yanked off the padlock on the empty second-floor apartment. Closing the door behind him, he stared at the dark space. Rooms empty, shutters locked, and wood floors hardly dusty. He punched a series of numbers into the cell phone and expected the groggy “hello.”
“I know it’s the middle of the night in Manhattan, Patrick, but this can’t wait. Get out of bed, don’t wake your wife, and find someplace where you can talk. I’m calling in your debt.”
Patrick Christenson owed the vampire his life. On the night Lukas was conceived he had saved this hopeless human already in the clutches of the dark seer. The accountant would’ve made the deadliest mistake of all… going with her. Of course, he had intervened. One night of sex with a mystically enhanced vampire was the trade-off—and the human on the edge of despair got to keep his soul. The accountant turned out to be a valuable asset. He had set up the trust funds for Alana and Lukas. And he kept Michael’s finances squeaky clean, legal, and above all, untraceable.
“Okay, I’m downstairs,” Christenson finally said. “After I saw the hole in Manhattan where your office used to be, I thought you were dust and bone. Where are you anyway?”
“I’m in Italy—Portofino to be exact. I need you to do a couple of things for me very far under the radar, understand?”
“I’m a wizard when it comes to money—the good kind of wizard. And I’m always discreet when it comes to you. What do you need?”
“Move half of my funds to Banco Italia in Portofino. The rest is to be placed in a Swiss account under the name of Lukas Malone, with an access code sent to Miles Bookman and a copy of it to Miss Cecelia Bookman at the Georgian Estate in Hampton Hill, England. Mary Kendrick, owner of the Kendrick Art Gallery on the upper west side, can help you with what comes next. Tell her I need a birth certificate, social security number, and a list of phony medical and dental records for a fifteen-year-old boy. Lukas was born May 19, 1990. Place of birth should be listed as St. Francis Hospital in Manhattan. She’ll know what to do. Everything has to arrive in less than twenty-four hours, understand? The address is 52 Via Amadeus in Portofino. Send them to Rosa Bellini.” He paused. “Mary must go to my brownstone and remove all artworks. Some pieces are hundreds of years old…all originals. My books are first editions, worth a fortune. Have her sell everything and keep the proceeds from the sales. If she starts to argue, just enlist Martha Kendrick to persuade her. Have Mary take anything else of value. But it must be done immediately.” He didn’t want any loose ends dangling for those bastards to chew on. “When all is completed, you are to burn any information that connects you and me including the phone in your hand. Computer flash drives, paper files … everything and then bury the ashes in consecrated ground. As for your usual fee? Double it.”
“Look, you’re worth millions after twelve months of aggressive and strategic management. Are you sure about this? I mean, I can work fast, but are you sure you want me to? How about leaving one account open—”
“No. Not necessary, Patrick. You won’t be hearing from me again. Take care of that beautiful family of yours. One last thing… Leave Manhattan. Take an extended cruise to Alaska or Hawaii. Book it today—and get your family the hell out of there. Enjoy every minute with them. Those you love are those who matter.” He ended the call.
He studied each room lost in thought. Lukas could never return to the city. Thorn will keep him in line. Miles will see to a proper education. Alana and Rosa will help raise him. My boy will have a good life… without me.
****
Once upstairs, Michael placed the cell phone on the dining room table and begrudgingly resumed his place across the table from Miles. It was still early and they were the only ones awake.
Miles stopped typing on his laptop, pulled off his reading glasses. and sat back.
Curiosity and dread competed in Michael’s brain. He folded his arms, leaned his elbows on the table knowing dread was the winner. “What exactly do the Georgians know about me?”
“Is something bothering you?”
Shifting back in the chair, he kept his arms locked across his chest, crossed his legs as his eyes shifted to the open windows. “I was never a religious man. I find it ironic how your group is willing to get so involved with something like me. I mean, they got me here, they healed me, and they tapped their veins for me—all those holy people.”
“You look uncomfortable.”
“Wouldn’t you be? I spent two-thirds of my undead existence feeding off people just like them. The holier they were—” He shook his head and looked down running a hand through his hair then locking his arms once again.
“It’s no secret you had a penchant for nuns,” the researcher stated in a casual tone, sounding more like an off-the-cuff statement rather than the serious indictment it was. “I would surmise the creature you were found this particular type of kill exhilarating―the most innocent of the innocent―like your sisters.”
He leveled a cold but curious gaze at Miles. “What would you know about my sisters?”
“Do you remember them?”
“Oddly, yes… and for some unknown reason very vividly, even in my dreams. I’m a vampire. Even mystically enhanced, I shouldn’t be able to recall human life.”
Miles moved his laptop aside, picking up his pen. “Since you’ve brought it up, I’d like you to journal what you experienced… the pain, the nightmares.”
“Not on your life, researcher… Those little snip-its of agony stay with me.”
“Then tell me about your sisters.”
“I-I loved them and they loved me. Being the youngest, they doted on me.”
“And your parents?”
He shifted uneasy. “Father said I was a spoiled little boy. He was strict, but he was a fair man. When my sisters left, I became a handful. The year 1678… I was Lukas’s age. God how I missed them. I got into quite a bit of mischief in the months that followed. I knew exactly what to do to make Mother cry. She was a gentle soul. Father overlooked my antics once or twice. Then he took a strap to my backside.”
“You had no other family.”
“No. Not a cousin, aunt or uncle. I rebelled against Father’s very ethical ways as I matured. He was an honorable man, like you, and well respected. He had a moral demeanor. I was very head-strong, very ambitious… And I never saw my sisters again. There was no discussion of them, like they had never existed. I didn’t even know the name of the convent they went to, but I knew it wasn’t in England… Some Catholic country, I presumed.”
“That must have frustrated you—not knowing where they were.”
“Try resentment and rage. And I can’t believe how much I remember my humanity.” He shook his head as if to clear it. Rarely talkative, he found himself almost wanting to share what he now recalled. “By the time I turned twenty there wasn’t a pretty rich girl in London who didn’t sigh with pleasure if she caught my eye. Father’s death completely devastated Mother, who now lived in a silent daze. Months later, I placed her in the care of a trusted servant and moved the business to America. I’m not proud of leaving her. That alone should have me burning in Hell.” Like in my first terrifying dream, he thought. “How she pleaded with me to stay. Without Father tweaking my conscience on a daily basis, I didn’t care anymore. I left the servant money, enough to last through the end of Mother’s life. It was cruel…I am aware. I never sent word of my whereabouts. If you thought me extremely self-absorbed, you wouldn’t be wrong, Researcher. A short year later in Manhattan, Malone Imports was once again a thriving business. That success allowed me to have my way with all the pretty ladies in a new city. With no intentions of being duped into marriage, I stayed far away from the single ones. Then at the age of twenty-seven, a jealous husband paid handsomely to have me taken care of…for good. Instead of killing me, Cyril turned me into what I am. I can still see the aristocrat’s ice-blue eyes turn amber before he bit me.” He swallowed hard. “Shortly after I was sired, I saw an old friend from London who had immigrated to America. He said Mother had passed. Vicious beast that I was, I made sure his death came slow with many screams of agony.” Keeping his voice low and his gaze averted as he thought, which is why I deserve Hell.
“And your sisters?”
“Anne, Rosalind, and Priscilla. They owned my heart.” So many emotions thickened his tone, and he narrowed his eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do. You want me to say it, even though you know all about me.” He leaned forward first in anger, which instantly slid to shame. “Many sins and many, many more will haunt my soul in Hell forever. I never drank from a child. I never killed a Guardian of Souls. I preferred women over men. Their blood tasted like honey—and I was driven by lust. Virgins… The sweetest nectar I—” He paused. “Let’s just say there were more than a few convents on the North American continent where I left my signature. The last one was a turning point, so to speak.” He scrubbed his face and sighed. “1890… They called it an outbreak of consumption, but the Mother Superior knew the truth. I violated their bodies. I drank from them—and I slaughtered them all. That was my last foul act when Helena found me.”
Pushing off the table, he stood and walked to a window with his face turned toward the sunless sky.
“I’m not a fool, Miles. There’s no way I could ever make up for what I’ve done. It wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference if I spent a thousand years on my knees in penance. Nothing will bring my victims back. I’m going to Hell, and that lousy little inhuman Irishman is waiting for the right moment to make his move…to send me there. You should have left me in that passageway. I have had enough.”
He wished he could walk away from this. He didn’t continue—couldn’t say any more as if he were on an emotional rollercoaster, not knowing what awaited the next climb, the next terrifying dip. Intense nausea gripped his stomach as if he were human again.
Bracing his hands on the window frame, he whispered, “Why did I tell you this? Why did I say it out loud?” He swiped at the corner of his eye fearfully aware of the clear liquid on his fingertip. “Tell me what I am now, Researcher. My tears are clear, my stomach aches with human hunger and I saw my cloudy reflection in the mirror. My unbeating heart is so full of love for Alana and my son that I swear I feel it ache. What kind of twisted, cosmic joke…showing me everything I want but can never have?” He turned back to the window not sure if he wanted to sob or punch the wooden frame.
“Yours is a predestined path. I can only state what I know in my heart. As God as my witness, you will be victorious, having already accomplished the impossible.”
The soft, calm reply forced him to shut his eyes. He didn’t move yet he wanted to run. Lost in solitude, he stood there many minutes. Then he went to the kitchen, and fixed Alana’s breakfast. All he wanted was to hold her. All he wanted was what was best for his son. Their safety was all that mattered.
Miles watched him walk through the room in silence. He was stunned by this conversation that could almost be classified a confession. Bringing his laptop front and center, he stared at a blank page trying to digest every nuance of what he’d just heard. Repositioning his reading glasses he began this entry with the truth. Michael isn’t only suffering… he is frightened.
These insights were crucial pieces of information about the unusual transformation taking place within a tortured being. Vivid human recall, unguarded emotions, an expression of hunger, clear tears, a reflection—significantly unique characteristics.
Typing the words on the blank page forced him to wonder about their meaning as well.
Chapter 32
Preparations
As the sun rose, Valetta Russo limped into her penthouse in Rome. Floors above the office, the liaison locked the door with a look of disgust. Clothes trailed to the bathroom suite. She stood under a hot shower, scrubbing her skin raw. She brushed her teeth until her gums bled, and gargled with peroxide, spitting it out into the sink all the while cursing.
Rage swelled when studying her naked body in the smoky wall of mirrors. Bruises and bite marks covered inner thighs, breasts, neck, and arms. Clayton Mails is a pig—a vile, nasty animal. He’d pay for what he did to her. Red marks marred her throat and wrists. A high-neck, long-sleeved sweater would conceal his fetish from her office staff.
The red silk robe settled over her tender skin, and Valetta picked up the phone, pressed 6 to connect with her assistant. “Ciao bene, Ricardo, send the team to Portofino. Make sure they have the drugs with them. Carlo must call when they arrive. Cancel my meetings this morning. I’ll be in at noon.” She left the phone off the hook and snuggled between black satin sheets.
The pig would surely pay for every single abuse.
Small tears lingered in the corners of her eyes. So many illegal contracts, hundreds of unholy kills, and acts of perverse loyalty to the sorcerers she had racked up over the years. Of all the things she had done to get ahead, being a willing participant in Clayton’s sadistic fantasies last night was, by far, the vilest request ever asked of her. The liaison ran back to the bathroom toilet, stuck her fingers down her throat and threw up until there was nothing of Clayton left in her stomach.
****
Siena was many miles away from Portofino. Mother Aurea stood wearily after Morning Devotions. Thin and bent, the nun’s dark-gray eyes watered with age. The last sixty-five years of her life had been spent the exact, same way—Mass at dawn, meditation, and busy hours tending vegetables and fruits in the garden. As Prioress of her Order, Aurea’s spiritual mission took precedence, leading cloistered sisters through their vocations in the mystical sect. Sister Rosalinda assisted the healer into the fragrant promenade surrounding their convent. “The day is hazy and dull, so unusual for Siena this time of year.” She glanced to up to Heaven and said in her calm way, “It is time, Rosalinda.”
Other remarkable women dedicated to prayer, healing, and protection prepared themselves in the chapel. All pure of heart and spirit, each had been individually called by the angels to lend strength to those whose hour of need had been thrust upon them.
A long white passenger van idled where the garden path ended. Sister Rosalinda guided the holy woman to it. “Gabriella is driving,” she whispered to the Prioress, “I thought it best, since time is now of the essence.”
She agreed. “So young and full of energy, Gabby’s need for speed is uncanny for someone called to our way of life. But who are we to judge?”
Sister Rosalinda settled her into the middle row of seats, making sure she was safely belted between herself and another. The rest took their places while two sisters filled the back of the van with fruits and vegetables from the garden for the pastor at the ancient church of San Giorgio—in Portofino.
****
Everybody’s busy except me, Lukas thought, looking at Celia and Thorn in quiet conversation on the living room couch. He was at the dining room table with his dad and Miles. Sitting next to Miles, he kept glancing across the table watching his father read a pile of worn, yellowed files and oblivious to everyone, including him.
