“Well, get inside,” Meena said. She tried to sound authoritative, which wasn’t easy, since she was shaking so badly. But she wanted Adam to do as she said. “Go see the doorman, Pradip. He has a first-aid kit at the desk. He’ll call 911 and help you until the EMTs arrive. Go see Pradip, Adam.”
“But I have to find my wife,” Adam said. “They took her.”
“I know they took her,” Meena said, reaching up to pull at her hair in frustration. “Do you know where they took her, Adam?”
“They told me to tell you,” Adam said slowly, speaking like a man under a spell or in profound shock. “They gave me a message for you…”
Meena glanced at her brother, who was speaking rapidly into her phone. She was relieved to see that he’d evidently managed to reach Alaric.
“What?” she asked Adam desperately. “What’s the message they gave you for me, Adam?”
“They said told me to tell you that if you ever want to see Leisha again, you have to come to the church,” Adam said.
“Church?” Meena shook her head, not understanding. “But I’m already at the church!”
“St. George’s,” Adam said. “They said to go to St. George’s. That’s where the coronation is going to be.”
“Coronation?” Meena stared down at the cell phone. Now she was completely confused. “Coronation of who?”
“The new prince of darkness.”
Chapter Fifty-three
9:45 P.M. EST, Saturday, April 17
910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B
New York, New York
Alaric stared at the disaster area that had once been Meena Harper’s apartment.
The Dracul had been thorough, if not downright imaginative, in their destruction of it. There wasn’t a piece of furniture in 11B that hadn’t been smashed, slashed, or otherwise torn apart or ruined. The sofa cushions had been slit open with knives, the stuffing strewn about the place with colorful abandon. The exposed wooden sofa frame had been chopped to bits. Same with Meena’s easy chair and the rest of the upholstered furniture.
The coffee table lay smashed into pieces, as did all the lamps and every bit of dishware in the kitchen. The legs from the dining room table had been stuffed through the television screen. All of Meena’s books from the built-ins in the living room lay piled into the bathtub, where they’d been left to soak with the shower still running.
That had taken some true inspiration on the part of the Dracul. He couldn’t help wondering which one of them had thought that one up. Destroying the beloved books of a writer?
It could only have been Dimitri. The gesture bore all the signs of his old-school, Hun-style viciousness.
Meena’s bed had seen a particularly savage assault, having been attacked with what looked to have been a chain saw. On the wall above it, someone had spray-painted the word whore in black. The dragon symbol of the Dracul had likewise been spray-painted on walls throughout the apartment, wherever other various euphemisms for the word prostitute hadn’t been used instead, usually spelled incorrectly.
Alaric, stepping across the broken glass and shredded clothing from Meena’s closet, shook his head.
The Dracul would certainly never have to worry about being mistaken for Rhodes scholars.
There was not the slightest chance, of course, that they had left anything living in this apartment. Wherever Meena’s dog was, he was undoubtedly dead. Alaric didn’t even know why he was bothering to look.
Except that he wanted to see the corpse for himself. He felt that the sight would give him just that much more reason to hate the enemy and do to them the kinds of things he’d been fantasizing about doing to them since entering the apartment.
He was inspecting the contents of Meena’s appliances-he wouldn’t have put it past the Dracul to have broiled or, alternately, frozen the dog to death-when he heard a voice from the doorway to 11B, which he’d most definitely locked behind him.
“Yoo-hoo,” a woman called. “Knock-knock. Anybody there?”
Alaric, who was of course clutching Señor Sticky in his hand, fell into a defensive stance, ready to slice off the head of the female vampire who stood in Meena’s entranceway, blinking at him. She was a tall blonde wearing a fantastical outfit that included a pair of platform heels, some kind of sparkly gaucho pants, and a blouse that appeared to be made out of feathers.
If his eyes didn’t deceive him, it was Mary Lou Antonescu, the socialite.
And while she appeared startled by the sight of the sword, she wasn’t half as startled as he was. How had she gotten there? He hadn’t heard a key turn in the lock.
Was it possible she, like the prince, had the ability to turn to mist? Had she come in from beneath the door?
“Oh, hey there!” she cried in a friendly way. “You must be the Palatine guard who’s trying to catch the prince. You’re not going to whack my head off with that thing, are you?”
Alaric stared at her in horror. If she possessed the ability to turn to mist, she must be an extraordinarily powerful vampire.
And yet she looked as if she’d just come from a shopping trip to a suburban mall.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked.
“Because this top is Gucci, and it cost a fortune,” she said. “It would be a shame to ruin it by turning me all to dust. Besides, we’re on Meena’s side. I saw the lights come on, and I figured it was you. I knew you’d just cut Emil’s head off and ask questions later. I didn’t think you’d be quite as quick to kill a lady. Are you here for the dog?”
Alaric couldn’t quite believe that he was actually standing in Meena Harper’s kitchen having a conversation with…well, with a vampire.
A vampire who was dressed to the nines in designer clothes, flinging her long-nailed hands around as she spoke like a starlet on a late-night talk show, promoting her latest Hollywood release.
Was this some kind of trick?
But vampires weren’t smart enough to stoop to such tricks. Not even the Dracul. Tricks like dropping down on him from a secret air duct in the ceiling and eating half his face off, yes.
But a conversation?
This was a first.
“Yes,” he said finally. He didn’t lower the sword, however. “I came for the dog.”
“We’ve got him over at our place,” Mary Lou said. “He’s fine. Lucien asked us to come get him after we heard about that little altercation at Shenanigans. We weren’t sure it was you all, but better safe than sorry. We figured Meena might have some…well, unpleasant visitors, and Jack might not be safe over here.”
She looked around the apartment, shaking her head.
“Such a shame,” she said, tsk-tsking. “She had a sweet little place. And they just tore it all apart, didn’t they? We heard them doing it, of course. But there was nothing we could do. I mean, if we didn’t want to be next. We were going to leave town to get away from them-and you, of course-but then we decided to wait. I suppose we could have dumped the dog off at a kennel, but that just didn’t seem right somehow.”
Alaric, still keeping the sword aloft, narrowed his eyes at her. What was this?
“I know what’s going on here,” he said. “You’re a succubus, aren’t you? You’re going to try to seduce me, then suck out my soul. Well, it won’t work. I’ve dealt with your kind before. And I always win.”
Mary Lou, surprised, threw back her golden head and laughed. It was a happy sound in an otherwise dismal place.
“A succubus,” she said. “Oh, honey, that’s a good one. Wait ’til I tell Emil. I’ve been mistaken for a lot of things in my time, but never one of those! No, sweetie, I’m a vampire, just like the rest of them. Well, not just like the rest of them. I’m on your side, like I said.”
“Yes, well, that’s not possible,” Alaric said. He crept forward, Señor Sticky aimed at her throat. She, in turn, backed up until her spine was against the front door. “Humans and vampires don’t mix. Vampires kill humans. And so it’s my job to kill you. All of you. No matter how beautiful.”