Part 8 (2/2)

”Good man. I think the sheriff has some more questions for you.”

Everyone retired to the comfort and light of the homeowner's living room except the deputy, who remained outside to search the yard with his flashlight. Shelby questioned Lucius and the homeowner, Mr. Vickers, separately. The sheriff and her deputy were no novices. Ric had noticed the deputy standing between Lucius Moravich and Dan Vickers in the yard, preventing them from speaking to one another. Now, in the house, Shelby kept the two men apart. Ric was of some use, after all, keeping one man company while the other was being interviewed. After an hour, however, he said his good night to Shelby, satisfied that he had learned all there was to learn about what had happened earlier.

There hadn't been much to the story. Digger's a.s.sailant had approached him from behind, unseen and unheard until Digger felt strong hands on him, one covering his mouth and the other across his chest, pinning his arm down. Apparently a neighbor's dog, a huge black shepherd, had wandered from his own yard into Mr. Vickers'. Dan Vickers had a large compost pile at the rear of his yard that always contained egg sh.e.l.ls, corn cobs, table sc.r.a.ps, and other organic goodies that were irresistible not only to every wild critter of the woods, but every dog in the neighborhood. ”General,” drawn by the aroma of fresh garbage, had started barking at the men. When the back door of the house had opened, the a.s.sailant had fled.

Lucius had only seen a blur of dark clothes and dark hair. He estimated that his attacker had been at least six feet tall and well built, but he hadn't seen enough of the man's face to look at mug shots or direct an artist to come up with a sketch.

As he pulled up to the Chicken Palace later, Ric was grateful that he had no visitors, welcome or otherwise, waiting for him. He needed to think.

Think. Ric prided himself on the fact that he still had the capacity for rational thought. Most vampires, in pa.s.sing to the Other Side, found all their human traits perverted. Thinking became nothing more than brooding or sulking-dark, glum, and ruled solely by emotions like jealousy, mistrust, l.u.s.t, and anger. Through some fluke in his transformation, Ric had retained the ability to control the heat of his pa.s.sions with logic's cool clarity. He knew it was one of the reasons he had been both a successful leader among the Undead and a successful doctor.

As he entered the house, a flag of truth, normally buried as deep as his human memories, rose and unfurled, and his conscience whispered, Liar. Your pride and joy is a lie. It wasn't your transformation, it was your life as a human that dictated your eternity. It was those final months of horror and loss that killed all emotion, deadened all pa.s.sion.

Ric, in an uncharacteristic sweat, stripped off the silk s.h.i.+rt and trousers, the gla.s.ses, and the gold jewelry, and raced up to the tower room, slamming the door behind him. He knew from experience that when his mind allowed truth to taunt him, the tortuous memories would follow, and he would remember and relive the emotion and pa.s.sion of his human days. He opened the tower window, gripped the sill with both hands, and drew deep breaths of the warm night air, focusing all his concentration on his breathing. Slow and steady ... slow and steady. It didn't work.

The physical intimacy he had shared with Shelby earlier in the evening, however brief, had released the beast. The beast was that part of him that was pure, unadulterated one hundred percent vampire. It was the part of him that hungered, l.u.s.ted, and ensured survival. It was his strength, his power, his lethal beauty. It was also that part of him which overran control, logic, and reason. The beast was necessary, for without it, he would die the True Death, but it wasn't always welcome. With the loss of control, the floodgates holding back the memories were battered and torn.

The first memory seeped through.

Paris, 1793 The fever that swept the land was worse than the plague. He could understand disease, even the most virulent and deadly, but the fever that turned so many individuals into but one tiny portion of a collective creature, just as mindless but so much more powerful, was beyond his comprehension. This creature, the mob, was indiscriminating, relentless, and insatiable in its hunger for blood.

He had been told that his little sister, with as much suns.h.i.+ne in her disposition as in her hair, was first in line for the guillotine. His two younger brothers, Adrien and Gerrard, had been next, followed by their mother, so gentle and quiet, yet so unforgettable in her beauty and grace. His father, le comte de Chaux, was the last to go and witnessed all those who went before. Ricard had told himself over and over in the years to follow that he had been lucky not to have seen what his father saw on that final day. Lucky, too, in that had he been there, he would have been helpless to do anything other than fill the empty spot between Gerrard and his mother-the spot reserved for the eldest son of le comte.

Yet as much of a nightmare as all that was, it hadn't been the worst...

Ric loosed an anguished scream into the night, so high-pitched that only other inhuman creatures could hear it. He raked his hands through his hair, but trying to maul the memories was as difficult as trying to deny the beast. He lost all track of time as he fought the images, driving them at last back into the darkest recesses of his mind.

One day. That one day, so long ago, was the reason he had shunned human society for the two hundred plus years of his existence. It was the reason he had cultivated his cold, scientific demeanor. Human contact for others of his kind meant sustenance and entertainment. For him, though, humans meant only pain. Their presence either stirred a desire to avenge himself for the death of his family, or threatened to beguile him into caring for a creature he could never hold onto.

Shelby, with her unadorned beauty, strength, and fighting spirit, had seduced him thoroughly, stirring both his beast within and the image of the man he pretended to be. She was as dangerous to him as an entire mob would be.

A ringing sound vied with the voices in his head for attention, and after a few seconds he realized it was his phone. He reached for the tower room extension. ”De Chaux.” His voice emerged somewhere between a rasp and a growl.

”Tuxbridge. I just got a call from the sheriff. She wants to see me again, first thing tomorrow morning. You'd better know what this is about.”

Ric shook his head, trying to focus on the present. ”Ah, the privy digger was attacked this evening. He gave a description of the suspect as tall, well-built, and with dark hair.”

”So? That fits a lot of people in Shadow Bay. Why is she singling me out?”

Ric clawed at his hair, sweeping it back out of his face. ”I don't know. Digger was bitten by one of us, but the sheriff doesn't know that. There won't be anything about puncture wounds in the police report, and Digger himself will think he was only scratched, nothing more.”

”Well, she's got some reason for wanting to see me,” Tux hissed.

”Just go to the interview and play it cool. She doesn't have proof of anything.”

”Are you so sure of that? You'd better make sure.”

”I'll take care of the sheriff, don't you worry.”

It was only after he hung up the phone that he realized Tux hadn't actually denied responsibility for the attack. Either he presumed a great deal on Ric's faith in him, or he was, in fact, the a.s.sailant.

Ric took a cold shower to cool both his body and his mind. There would be little relaxation, though, during the rest of the night.

Every member of the Cristallia County's Undead Council called him on the phone. No one took personal responsibility for the death of the La Pointe man, but each was only too happy to bestow the credit on one of their brethren.The two females blamed each other. Zada Sinclair told Ric that Eva Hazard was a hooker who lived for nothing but blood, s.e.x, and games, all in equal measure. Eva, in turn, called Zada a cow with fangs who wouldn't know how to handle a man properly if she had all eternity.

Ormie Kessler stated that in his humble opinion Lyle Livingston was the culprit. Lyle, he said, favored boys over girls, not that he, Ormie, saw anything wrong in that. ”But Lyle was trailer trash in life, and, well, Doc, you know the old saying,” Ormie said. ”A no- cla.s.s human makes a no-cla.s.s vamp.”

Everyone else blamed Ormie. Dory Kreech prefaced his ”two cents,” as he modestly phrased it, with a disclaimer, saying he didn't want to get anyone in trouble, and of course he had no proof of anything, but he felt it was his duty to pa.s.s along his thoughts to the new Overlord. Dory then proceeded to yammer nonstop on how, as was plain to everyone, Ormie Kessler had let his job go to his head. Ormie thought of himself as a real police officer, not some casino rent-a-cop, Dory whispered. Ormie flashed his badge and biceps almost as much as Eva flashed her b.u.t.t and b.o.o.bs. Ormie's security job only added to the power trip of being a vampire. Now he not only had fangs, but a uniform and a gun. Ormie's swaggering braggadocio was clearly a cover-up for his inability to handle his power. Dory wound up his summation almost an hour later. ”Besides, Doc,” he affirmed, not in the least out of breath, ”Ormie hangs around with that bloodsucking s.l.u.t Eva Hazard, and we all know what she does.”

Ric could almost see Dory sitting at the phone, his head nodding sagely and his free hand stroking his chin. ”Thank you, Dr.

Kreech,” Ric responded dryly. ”Your input is invaluable.”

Dory seemed to take no note of the sarcasm, but purred in delight. ”Oh, any time, Doc. I'm always happy to help out.”

Five minutes later, right on cue, Lyle Livingston called.

”Hey, boss. You said to call if we had any...”

Ric's patience was wearing thin. ”Yes, Lyle. Who's number one on your hit parade?”

Lyle hesitated in confusion. ”Well, I certainly don't know who did it...”

None of the group, with the exception of Tux, would provide enough wattage to light a closet. Ric's voice lowered with annoyance. ”Of course not. Who do you want to tell me about?”

”Ormie's got a chip on his shoulder big enough to use as a dumbbell. Dumbbell, yeah.” Lyle gave a small laugh at his joke.

”Always has had it. He thinks he's better than the rest of us. He even challenged Jud for the position of adjutant last year. Ormie never wanted the responsibility-he only wanted the prestige of the t.i.tle. Fact is, he's always wanted to go his own way. He's never wanted to be part of the melting pot with humans-never wanted to be middle-of-the-road or majority or mainstream.

Ormie does what Ormie wants to do. And don't let his job fool you. He doesn't do it to fit in. He does it for the games and the power it affords him.”

”Thanks, Lyle. Your insight is very helpful.”

Lyle grunted. ”Oh, and one more thing, boss. Ormie's been around here longer'n anyone 'sides Jud. If anyone knows every hole in the woods, it's Ormie.”

Ric hung up the phone with a long sigh. It wasn't unusual for vampires to back stab. In fact, it was to be expected. Friends.h.i.+p and loyalty were simply not vampiric traits. Still, in a group this small he somehow had expected more cohesiveness. He hadn't mentioned the new attack to any of the callers. He would do that when he met with each of them in person. That way, he could look into their eyes and gauge their reaction, something he couldn't do over the phone. He had meetings with Eva Hazard and Ormie Kessler lined up for tomorrow night. On the surface, they seemed the most likely two in the group to get into trouble.

The interviews were separately scheduled and would be one-on-one. He had learned long before observing Shelby Cort's interview method that such conferences were more reliable when done privately. Group discussion and the sharing of thoughts and comments tainted any statement made in such a setting.Ric, wearing a pair of black shorts and a black robe, sat on his front porch and listened to the music of the night. Crickets sang, and somewhere nearby bullfrogs added a counterpoint to the buzz of the insects. He thought about the evening, but this time it was the attack that occupied his mind, not his time alone with Shelby Cort. He wasn't ready just yet to deal with the run-wild emotions that thoughts of Shelby set loose.

The attack on Digger had occurred at sunset. Most nocturnal vampires could function at dusk and dawn with the aid of dark gla.s.ses and cover-ups, but it was Digger's description of his attacker more than the time of occurrence that narrowed the field of suspects. ”Tall, dark, and well-built” effectively eliminated Ormie-short and stocky, Dory-short and slight, and Lyle-tall and thin. Blond Eva was definitely out, and Zada, even with her height and corresponding bulk, would only be mistaken for a man by a long stretch of the imagination.

Judson Tuxbridge was the only match-Tux and the mysterious Joel Branduff, whose existence had not yet been corroborated by others in the group. It was well within Ric's rights as Overlord to satisfy himself by any means necessary of his adjutant's loyalty and motives. Tux might not like being questioned, but he could raise no legitimate objection.

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