Part 21 (1/2)

His face buried in a pillow, the Master affectionately stroked the Elite's hair back from his forehead. As the male Elite sucked greedily from the older vampire's wrist, the exhausted slump of the Master's body reflected boredom. Sorin panicked at the sight.

Or perhaps he was merely tired, Sorin thought. He had been working much harder lately, thank the day.

The glow of the television-Sorin thrilled to see that it was on-reflected the closed-circuit video images of the meeting in the theater. He had been watching.

Sorin's spirits lifted high above the room at this indication of the Master's renewed interest. In decades past, the head vampire had taken great exhilaration in games-hunting and being hunted. Was his old love of chaos resurrecting him?

”You were watching?” he asked, studiously keeping the joy from his voice.

The Master's words slurred together. ”I was. You did everything perfectly, Sorin.”

A stain of pride spread through his chest. Sad, that he still depended on the Master's approval. Sad, that Sorin suspected he would never be able to discard the need for it.

”Now, to deal with the PIs,” Sorin said.

”Weare. From what's been gathered in intelligence, I think they might be useful to us. If there reallyisanother master directing them, they could lead us to the source itself.”

The male Elite tilted his head back, gasping for air, blood on his chin as he opened his eyes and smiled.”Ahhh,” he said, wavering back and forth as if dizzy. ”My very own Dr. Feelgood. Or...sorry...Dr. Eternity.” He chuckled. ”It's a little bit like calling out the wrong name after you come, huh?”

At the mention of the nickname that the Elites had invented for the Master, the head vampire patted the young creature's head, ending the infusion.

Balancing to his feet, the youngster stood by the television, wiping his mouth. One of the oldest of the elite cla.s.s, this one's humanity had died in an automobile crash a half century ago, and he was awaiting a second release. He was strung together with fine, slender bones, his hair a golden brown fluff that was punctuated with long sideburns. Lanky and s.e.xy-that is what the Groupies said about him.

”It is time for you to leave,” Sorin said.

”Aw, h.e.l.l, you're going to see me around the emporium and whatnot.” He strutted to the entrance. ”I'm going to visit the baths tonight for a real, real long time. Get me somep.u.s.s.y, and then I'll be set to leave.”

He laughed as he exited, and Sorin scowled. He could not deny the Elite. These vampires were allowed full use of the Underground because they paid enough to ensure the privilege.

The Master was still buried amongst the divan cus.h.i.+ons, his wrist already having healed from the infusion.

”He is arrogant,” Sorin noted.

”All of them are.” He sounded weary now. ”But that's part of their charm, now, isn't it. You weren't that different from them back when I found you.”

Just as Sorin was becoming worried about his tone, the Master reached for his television remote control, flipping through channels. ”Aliasreruns will be on in ten minutes. Sit.”

Relieved beyond measure, Sorin laughed. The media-loving Master. ”I must see to the meeting's close. Shall I report to you later for details regarding Tamsin Greene's welcome?”

The Master sat up, his red-outlined aura stronger than Sorin had seen it in years. ”I'll be prepared.”

As the television's screen revealed the faces of lovely young people, Sorin rethought his plan for the night. ”Perhaps Iwillstay.

Only for a few moments though.”

His aura beaming, the Master made room for his child on the divan.

But soon, after the news of the murder reached the spies of the Underground, the television was turned off.

And the vampires were forced into action, once again.

SEVENTEEN.

THEBODY.

CAUGHTin a limbo between reluctance and satisfaction, Dawn lay on the couch in Limpet's office somewhere around midnight.

Newsflash: she'd been with The Voice again. Yeah, it was true. Dawn wasn't about to admit to having a lot of restraint when it came to him or the way he made her feel with his talent for soothing her neuroses. He'd become something like a bed buddy, a comforting return to real life.

At least, sort of. If they'd actually been having flesh-to-flesh, wolf-howlings.e.xs.e.x, it would've been just like old times for her. But this kind of loving wasn't so normal.

Evensheknew that.

Still, there was one indisputable fact: instead of just entering her from the inside and working his way out tonight, The Voice had kept her overtime, switching from mysteryluv-ahto mentor without intermission. Even during the aftermath of the Big O, he began coaching her on mind blocking, seeing to the fine details of what he called her ”greatest weapon.”

It'd been a puzzling transition for Dawn, who couldn't make heads or tails-literally, in a locker room sense-of what the h.e.l.l was happening.

”Every time I'm with you,” The Voice was saying, ”I realize how much you've repressed. You've shoved many things to the back of your mind, as though they've been packed into boxes and rarely opened, if at all.”

Kiko had obviously told him aboutthepicture.

”And why can't it just stay packed?” she asked, her gaze stuck on the painting that had caught her attention last time: the Elizabethan woman. The ageless beauty watched Dawn right back, a perceptive smile on her pink, parted lips.

What was even more odd, though, were the other paintings in there-the ones Dawn thought had contained women also. All they showed now were landscapes, backgrounds, just like the one with the fire setting.

But The Voice wasn't exactly giving her much opportunity to gab about the difference in his decor.

”You cannot stay so tightly wound, because youwillimplode. A fine example of that was last night, at Bava, then again at the restaurant with that private investigator.”

At the mention of Matt Lonigan, his tone sounded sc.r.a.ped, rough with something that could've been the jealousy she was always hoping for. She couldn't help being a little happy about that. Freaky girl.

”So I got nervous and threw a mind block at Lonigan.” Dawn turned her gaze from the Elizabethan painting to the speakers where The Voice was coming from. ”He didn't react to that, the garlic, or the crucifix. So, in effect, didn't my blocking overkill actually result in getting even more information about his responses? Shouldn't you be stoked about your growing dossier on him?”

”Perhaps. But you're misdirecting our discussion again.”

”I sure am.” She grinned, but it was more about defensive c.o.c.kiness than anything else.

As he sighed, she could almost see him tossing his hands up, done with her. ”Dawn.”

”Limpet.”

There was a stretched pause. ”At least there's this: in spite of your amazing ability to consistently sa.s.s back, I'm at least satisfied that you're now relaxed enough to go out there and function rationally.”

He was teasing her about the s.e.x...or...whatever it was.

”Don't sound so proud of yourself. We've got a good, symbiotic deal going. You get to tour the dark closets of my mind, and I leave happy. It's not like you've become my personal savior because you're diddling my noggin or something. Besides, if you ask me, whatever's going on here is just one therapy session away from masturbation anyway.”