Part 3 (2/2)

It was just a shadow, he tried to tell himself. A result of the candlelight, the intense darkness of the night...

”Where are all those psychologists when you need them?” he mocked himself out loud.

He felt the most intense desire to keep looking over his shoulder. There was something there. Something pursuing-no, stalking- him. Slowly, playing with him. He could feel it. Feel the danger, like a gazelle on an African plain suddenly aware that a lioness was silently slipping up behind it....

He spun around. He was alone in the hall.

It was simply the time and place, he told himself. He was in the land of legends, with a bunch of no-life idiots who liked to play at being vampires. It was silly; it was sad.

But fanatics could be dangerous.

And still he felt he was facing something that didn't remotely resemble a human danger.

He turned back, staring at the doors.

And felt it again. There was a shadow, something...evil. It was laughing at him, he thought. It knew his fear, thrived on it, and laughed....

They had to get out of there.

”Mary?” he called aloud-almost screaming it. He no longer cared what anyone thought, what ridiculous expectation the girls had for journalistic success. They had to get out.

”Mary?” he called again, and opened the first door.

It was simply too fascinating. Mary was pretty sure she was standing there in wide-eyed wonder. No matter how sophisticated she might have considered herself to be in her own world, she knew she must appear like a lamb in a forest here. Still, this was the kind of thing that made for a great story. People loved to share such wanton and carnal experiences-vicariously. They wanted to be shocked and appalled. They were curious, and satisfying their curiosity sold print. And she? She intended to sell. People were always intrigued by s.e.x and violence. It was unlikely that she would be traveling to any major war zones, so that left s.e.x.

Well, s.e.x and fantasy. The vampire fantasy. It kind of made sense that some guys wanted to act like they were vampires, because vampires had power over women. And some women loved the idea of being taken, dominated....

There was certainly fantasy here, combined with masks...and s.e.x....

First she had stumbled on an intimate menage a trois. They hadn't noticed her in the doorway at first, they had been so...involved.

Then a husky voice had suggested she join in. Certain her face was a thousand shades of red, she had apologized and moved on.

Another door had led to an empty-but prepared-chamber. And chamber was the right word, not room. The s.p.a.ce had been decorated to resemble an ancient dungeon, with shackles on the wall, and whips and chains laid out on a table, ready for use.

She had studied the place as dispa.s.sionately as she could, trying for journalistic objectivity, but then, uneasy, she had hurried on with a little shudder. Definitely not her scene.

The third room she found amusing. A very tall, well-muscled man was dressed in a very pink, very lacy nightie, heels and a garter belt. He was admiring himself in a mirror. She excused herself, trying not to laugh as she departed.

But she didn't feel actually scared until she opened the fourth door.

There was no reason for her fear, really. The room was empty and almost completely dark. Where candles and lamps had burned elsewhere, the only light here spilled in from the hall. When she first opened the door, she saw nothing at all. Then it seemed as if a pair of eyes, fire-colored eyes, stared at her from the deep recesses of the room.

As the light filtered in and her eyes adjusted, she realized it was just a man, sitting alone in the dark. Again she excused herself and hurried on. But even as she closed the door, it seemed as if the darkness still cloaked itself around her. The hall hadn't changed, and yet it had. It had darkened. As if a giant shadow...

Don't be silly, she told herself. The candles in the wall sconces were just burning down.

But it seemed as if something chilling had settled in her bones. People. She needed to find people. It didn't matter what they were doing. He-men dressing in pink lace and frills, writhing bodies involved in an orgy...anyone.

She opened the next door. There was soft light. Comfortable chairs. One wall seemed to consist entirely of a giant television screen. From somewhere, music was playing.

She walked in. ”h.e.l.lo?”

No answer. For a moment she felt faint. Dizziness seized her. She closed her eyes. She couldn't believe it, but she was afraid she was going to black out.

She fought the feeling, wondering just how strong her b.l.o.o.d.y Mary had been. She opened her eyes. Somehow, things seemed slightly askew, as if something had changed in the few seconds when her eyes had been shut.

The sense of fear was still gripping her heart.

Run. Go!

She found herself sitting down. The TV came on, and the scene was arresting. A beautiful woman sat at a dressing table. She was in an elegant silk gown, brus.h.i.+ng her hair. The room appeared Victorian, though the dressing table had art nouveau elements.

There was a large wardrobe with the same elegant wood carvings, and a four-poster bed. Drapes floated in, wafting on the breeze with the same surreal whisper as the brush made, stroking through the woman's long pale-gold hair.

As Mary watched, a shadow seemed to materialize at the window.

She was afraid. Very afraid. She wanted to run.

And yet she could not. It was as if she had frozen in her chair.

Even as the shadow appeared at the window, she sensed another shadow rising behind her. She could feel the darkness, could feel the chill, the ice, whispering along her spine, as if arctic breath were teasing at her back.

There was nothing there, she insisted to herself.

It was evil, cold, a whisper in black and red....

Whispers didn't have colors....

This one did. Black, like an abyss. But touched by something...crimson.

Like blood.

Get up, Mary. Run! she warned herself.

But she couldn't. She could only stare at the screen. The shadow had drifted in through the flowing drapes and was gaining greater form. Materializing.

Her eyes widened. She wasn't watching TV, she realized. No movie was playing. She was looking through a one-way mirror.

The scene was in the next room, and it was really happening.

It had to be a parlor trick, a magician's act. The shadow was becoming a man. Materializing from the mist, like a vision from every tale told about the evils found in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania. It couldn't be real. It was an act, performed by employees of the private club, something done with smoke and mirrors. Not real.

She would not watch anymore.

But she couldn't move.

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