The mountain man saw us, and started speaking in Romanian. The tone was wary but not yet warning. For all he knew, Vayl had simply decided to duck out of the club for a midnight snack. As Vayl answered, I tried to unravel the mystery of this pitiful human lying on the garbage slimed pavement one block from where Miami's beautiful people met to play. In the words of Granny May, he wasn't right.
Standing this close to him felt like wading through swamp water. If you could distill the scent of maggots on manure, you might come close to his odor. But it wasn't body odor or bad breath. The man definitely bathed and scoped on a regular basis. In fact, for somebody whose pallor reminded me of a mortician with mono, the guy looked remarkable, a male model who's made one too many round trips on the express elevator.
The smell of death surrounds you.
His lips moved, though no sound escaped them. He mouthed the words, 'save me,' then slumped into unconsciousness.
I drew my gun, my forefinger lingering on what I called, to Bergman's delight, the magic button.
"I'll take the girl," I said, mostly because she looked like a runner, and I was highly motivated to put some distance between myself and the man she'd bitten. With my free hand I transferred the car keys from my pocket to Vayl's. "Do me a favor, when you're finished here. Take the guy to the hospital. If I had to do it I think my head would explode."
Vayl nodded, taking all his weight off his cane as he and Mountain Man sized each other up. I pressed the magic button and a mechanical whir signaled my Walther's transformation. The top quarter of the barrel opened to reveal a sheaf of thin wooden bolts no wider than a shish kebob skewer. Metal wings snapped open from each side of the barrel, the action also dropping a bolt into the chamber and cocking the metallic bow string that could send it flying nearly as fast and true as a bullet.
Vampirella gaped at me as I raised my weapon. She said, "You would not dare!"
"Yes," I said, "I would."
"I have done nothing wrong! I have a right to feed!" she responded, her voice shrill. She sprang to her feet, pulling the man up with her. He blinked, tried to focus, gave up and passed out again. The bloodstain on his shirt spread as the wound on his neck began to bleed again. My hand started to shake as his scent rolled over me.
"You have no rights," I told her, trying desperately to dodge a wave of nausea. It hit me anyway, and the effort it took not to gag brought tears to my eyes. I blinked them away, talking fast, aiming high. "On the other hand, I have several, including the right to shoot vampires with an unwilling donor's blood on their fangs."
Screaming with frustration, she picked the man up and threw him at me. Heavy as a side of beef, he hit me hard and I went down under him, feeling like I'd fall forever, knowing there was no escaping the living death that oozed over me like a flood of yellow pus.
I yelled and flailed at the inert weight holding me down, as panicked as if I was truly drowning.
The blackness came in a buzzing rush, and for the first time I reached out to it, thankful, ready to embrace it. Then the man's weight left me. I breathed fresh air, air tinged with the ice of Vayl's power. The man lay in a crumpled heap twenty feet away. Vayl stood over me, slashing at the male vamp with his cane. I looked for the female, trying to force my brain into motion.
Vayl moved and I sat up, feeling stupid and stunned. I retrieved Grief from where it had fallen beside me. I stood, stumbled off in the direction she must have taken, only years of training keeping me on my feet.
I heard a door click shut. Nothing was automatic. I had to tell my body to move toward the door. I concentrated on the handle, ordered my fingers to wrap around it and pull.
Inside, the thick, hot air pulsed to the beat of latin dance music. The door snapped shut behind me and I sprang forward, the sudden rush of energy that replaced the nausea propelling me into the dancing crowd. I slid the hand holding Grief inside my jacket and followed the wake my quarry's passage had created. Winding my way between pale young thrill seekers and their immortal lovers, feeling myself come alive again, I could hardly tell the real vamps from the pretenders. And plenty of both filled all three tiers of Club Undead's multi-colored dance floor. Leashed power sizzled and popped like cooking bacon, and I knew more than one of these bored rich kids would get burned tonight. In fact, one already had. He probably still lay in the alley like an abandoned lounge chair.
Who was he? What godawful horror crawled through his veins, exuding a stench that could knock me out like a glass-jawed boxer? Could it be that cancer had sunk its claws into him? I didn't think so. Hundreds of people had crossed my path tonight. Some of them must've been fighting the big C. But they hadn't shown up on my radar.
The mystery of the man's existence and the effect he had on me distracted me as I slogged toward the door. I didn't see Liliana or her goons, though I should've been looking for them. And I nearly missed Assan talking to his vampire accomplice, Aidyn Strait. They stood at the bottom of an ornate wrought iron staircase drinking and laughing, looking like they'd just figured out a foolproof way to rip off Fort Knox.
I averted my face as they headed upstairs, which was when I caught sight of Vampirella heading out the door. Frankenstein met me just outside. "Hey!" he bellowed as I tried to push past him, "I don't remember letting you in."
"You don't smell like Frankenstein at all," I said as I pulled out Grief, shoved it against his chest and fired. "You smell like Dracula."
A new wave of nausea hit me, but not as hard as before. Lucky for me my gal's trail led away from Nightmare Alley. I followed her at speed, hoping for an open shot, finding none.
After running hard for several blocks, dodging partiers and pedestrians, she surprised me by stopping suddenly. She stood outside a lamp store, the light from the front windows throwing sparkling highlights onto her hair. Like an A-list actress, she oozed confidence. Somewhere between here and the alley she'd pulled herself together and the realization stopped me in my tracks.
She smiled and I liked her immediately. Her charm could melt glaciers. She might actually be the cause of global warming. I smiled back; how could I resist? Though the spike in her power told me her charisma ran on batteries, I lowered Grief, resisting the urge to drop it.
"That man back there, with the blood on his shirt, who is he?" I asked, wishing I dressed as stylishly as this beauty with her knee-length boots, short denim skirt and silky red blouse.
"He is a friend of mine," she replied. "His name is Derek Steele."
I nodded. "He's very sick, you know. Probably dying."
Her smile wavered, seeming to shrink along with the rest of her. "Bad blood," she whispered. "Aidyn, you son-of-a-bitch, what have you done to me?"
Now I knew where I'd seen her. She'd been the small half of the couple on last night's helicopter. I should've recognized her and Mountain Man right away. I could blame my lapse on Derek Steele's sickening effect on me, but excuses are for wimps. I really should've noticed. Between this, the wrecked Lexus and the impulsive kiss, I may have just struck out. And I didn't even have a free afternoon to wallow in self-pity. At least I had my new friend.
I said, "I thought all vamps could smell bad blood."
"Not me. Not Boris," she said bitterly.
"So Aidyn set you up, huh? You must be part of his 'final experiment.' But it'll just make you sick, right? I mean, ultimately, you should be fine." I really wanted her to feel better. "Think about it logically. You must mean something to Aidyn. He wouldn't bring you here just to kill you."
"Not for himself. But he would do it for Edward." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she worked it out. "Edward must have burned inside that Boris and I rejected his proposals. But he never showed it. Not once."
"Edward sounds like a real shit," I offered.