Part 9 (2/2)

”c.r.a.p! The others were women.” He leaned forward, tucking a hand inside his jacket. ”Maybe most girls wouldn't be able to do that to Rico, but from what he said, you're different. Vampires have super strength, don't they?”

She suppressed a gasp. ”I can't believe you're s.p.a.ced out enough to accept that!” ”It sounds pretty wild, all right. So let's see-” He pulled a rosary out of his jacket and lunged at Sylvia.

Involuntarily she cringed back, arms raised to guard her face. His grin of triumph showed Sylvia her mistake. At once she recovered, forcing herself to fold her hands in her lap and ignore the cross less than a foot away. But it was too late to erase the impression made by her initial retreat.

”This sure does the job on you, all right,” said Tony.

”Don't be ridiculous,” she said, taming the quaver that tried to creep into her voice. ”You startled me, so of course I jumped.”

”I don't buy that. You're scared! I never believed in vampires before, but the way Rico looked, and the way you're acting-” He jabbed the cross at her and smirked when she flinched.

”What now?” she said, staring into his eyes. If she could keep him talking long enough, she ought to be able to hypnotize him out of his vindictive mood.

Fumbling in his side pocket, Tony pulled out a knife and unfolded it one-handed.

”Oh, I see,” she said. ”You're going to cut my throat because you have some fantasy about me killing your cousin.”

”Shut up!” Again he thrust the cross at her. This time it touched her bare arm.

The cheap plastic seared her like hot iron. With a scream she leaped up. Tony crowded her toward the bookcase, training the cross on her like a gun. His eyes flickered to the red welt on her arm. ”Well, son of a b.i.t.c.h, it works!”

”Look at me, Tony,” she pleaded in a whisper he had to strain to hear. ”I liked Rico, I never would have hurt him. Go home and forget all this.” For a few seconds he gazed into her eyes, his hostile stare softening. ”I know how upset you are about his death. I can feel your sorrow. Let me help you, Tony, let me take the hurt away.”

He let her take a step closer to him. The arm holding up the rosary drooped a little. She reached up, her fingers almost brus.h.i.+ng his cheek.

Abruptly he jolted back to full alertness. He took a swipe at her with the knife, which she barely dodged. ”Don't touch me, monster!” He brandished the cross between them.

Now she understood that Tony's faith in the symbol armored his mind against her. She had no hope of controlling him as long as he held the cross.

Again she backed up, pretending even more fear than she felt. She gathered her psychic energy, shaping it in her mind as a child's hands might shape a s...o...b..ll, ready to throw. Her muscles coiled tautly. She reached behind her to grope in the bookshelf. Tony, focused on the cross that sustained his courage, didn't notice. In a blur of motion human eyes couldn't track, she pitched a heavy book at him.

He involuntarily ducked. At the same instant, Sylvia activated her psychic veil. To Tony's sight, she knew she appeared to vanish.

She darted behind him. Her right hand slammed down on the nape of his neck. He collapsed to the floor.

He lay face down, the knife next to him, the rosary still beneath his limp fingers. Sylvia lifted his hand off the thing but couldn't work up the nerve to move it. Even without Tony's will charging it, the religious symbol frightened her. She was ashamed of the feeling but powerless to fight it. She had to get the rosary out of his reach. He wouldn't stay unconscious long.

After a minute's thought, she summoned Katrina with a soft mewing call. The cat padded into the room from wherever she'd been resting. ”You managed to miss the riot, didn't you?” Sylvia said. She knelt beside Katrina to stroke the fluffy head. Gazing into the cat's eyes, Sylvia silently delivered her command.

Her erect tail twitching, Katrina stalked over to the unconscious boy. Fastidiously she snagged the rosary beads between her teeth. Holding her head high, the beads dangling, she minced into the kitchen. Sylvia followed, to watch her leap to the window left open for access to the balcony. Familiar with this route, Katrina climbed out to the balcony as confidently as ever. Through the window Sylvia watched her slink to the rail and drop the rosary between the bars.

Sylvia let out a sigh of relief. She hadn't known for sure that the trick would work, for she'd never given the cat such a complex command before. Calling Katrina back to the kitchen, she bestowed a ”Good girl” upon her and opened a can of tuna.

When she returned to the living room, she found Tony stirring, emitting m.u.f.fled groans. After switching off the light, she rolled him over on his back and sat astride his chest. The second he opened his eyes, her own captured him. In the dark, she knew, he would see her eyes glow red.

He swallowed, choked with terror.

”Now you will listen to me, Tony,” she whispered. ”I did not kill Rico. I couldn't have killed him, because I'm just an ordinary woman, nowhere near strong enough. I never hurt Rico. Do you understand that?”

She stared at him until he gave a jerky, puppet-like nod. ”You're confused from the shock of the murder. I understand how you feel; I won't report this a.s.sault to the police. Thank me for that, Tony.”

”Thanks,” he parroted.

The response pleased her, not because she cared about the meaningless apology, but because it proved her mind-control was working. ”You aren't feeling well. You're sick from all this stress. You need to go home and rest for a few days. After that you'll feel better. You'll be at peace, and you'll forget all this stuff about me being a killer. Won't you?”

He nodded. ”Rest.”

”Yes, that's exactly what you need.” She smoothed his s.h.a.ggy bangs back from his forehead. ”Where do you live?”

He recited an address.

”Very good. Now I'm sending you home. You're feeling sick, so lean on me, and don't say a word.”

”Okay.”

After tucking the knife into his pocket, she led him to the elevator. In the lobby she told the doorman, ”The poor boy is ill. That's why he said all those things earlier. Get him a cab.” She repeated Tony's address and handed the doorman a couple of twenty- dollar bills.

”Sure. Thanks, Miss LaMotte.”

She didn't go upstairs until she'd seen Tony safely dispatched. Would the hurried hypnotic treatment permanently blot out his conviction that she was a vampire? She doubted that. However, it would hold long enough for her to pack, break her apartment lease, and get out of Boston. She saw no alternative. To that extent, Neil had won.

Chapter 8

Annapolis, October, 1979:

RAIN FELL in a heavy downpour. At his computer keyboard, Roger listened to the rush of water outside. He heard a distant grumble of thunder in the night.

Glad, for once, of an excuse to interrupt his work, he saved the file and switched off the computer. Why waste a magnificent night like this fiddling with case notes? He welcomed the storm, which provided a break in the Maryland humidity. The cool rain tempted him to go for a run through the trees, perhaps track down a racc.o.o.n or deer for a late supper. His townhouse condo, in the St.

Margaret's area across the Severn River from Annapolis proper, was conveniently surrounded by unimproved woodland. Pus.h.i.+ng the chair back from the desk, he toyed with the question of whether the pleasure of hunting would be worth the inconvenience of dealing with wet clothes afterward.

With a luxurious stretch, he stood up. He decided to change into shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt and take that run. On the way to the stairs, his contented mood was fractured by a knock on the front door. He frowned in puzzlement. No one ever visited him except salespeople and the paper boy, and it was too late for either of those. The only acquaintance who might conceivably drop in was Britt, and she would call first. Nor could he think of a reason why she would do so, instead of waiting to speak to him at the office in the morning.

He strode to the door, probing for the psychic emissions of whoever waited there. The moment he touched the k.n.o.b, the vibrations resonated through him.

From the other side of the door he felt something that could emanate from no ordinary visitor-a sensation of pressure, as if the air were about to implode around him. ”Who's there?” He detested the harsh tone that betrayed his apprehension.

”Sylvia.” The thickening tension in the atmosphere vanished at once, like a bubble popping. ”Let me in, Roger.”

Astonished at hearing her voice, Roger opened the door. ”Come in.” He stepped aside for her. She said nothing while he closed and bolted the door.

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