Vampire Babylon - Night Rising Part 7

Dawn's laugh was cutting. "A decent vampire?"

"They exist, and that's why I tried to talk with these guys before defending." "Holy mother, Kiko, how did you get involved with this stuff?"

He shrugged. "The boss found both me and Breisi about a year ago, tested us with those mind powers he tried on you today, except our tests were more PG, if you know what I mean."

Even though she was still in the getting-over-the-monster-attack stage, Dawn whipped up a dirty look at his nosiness.

Kiko offered a cheeky grin. "When the boss first hired us for 'odd jobs,' as he called it, it was a good paycheck between auditions. We trained, got educated in supernatural lore, trained some more. Little by little, the boss made the paranormal commonplace, even though Breisi had experienced a lot of it when she was younger. I did, too, but my talents weren't nearly as good before the boss showed up. Then there came a night when he thought we were ready enough to hit the streets, to start searching out 'the unexplainable,' as he calls it. Usually, we just report what we find to him. Well, that and a few tangles with a cranky vamp or a sour ghost. Boss is looking for something real specific...."

He shut up, obviously unwilling to go on.

Dawn's temper flared, surprise, surprise. "Come, on, Kiko, what's he-"

"L.A. is a cesspool of paranormal activity." He was Serious Kiko now. "We've been kept busy, but not like tonight.

Jeez,thesevamps...We've never seen 'em before."

Soft footsteps picked up speed behind them. With one glimpse over her shoulder, Dawn saw Breisi, her head down as she followed them back to the car.

"But if they're hanging out here, it looks like we're getting close to something," Kiko said.

"Why didn't you prepare me for the vamps?"

As they returned to the car, Kiko looked mortally wounded. "I didn't feel them coming. My talents don't seem to work on vamps the way they do on everything else. Besides, I was expecting more of a ghost, and I think the boss wasn't sure, himself. Believe me, Dawn, the last thing we want to do is get you hurt."

A tiny twinge needled her chest, but she shrugged it off-especially when Kiko glanced away from her, abruptly playing with his torn clothes, distractedly trying to put himself together. As for Breisi, she was performing the same number, concentrating oh-so- intensely on stowing the first-aid kit.

Vamps. Ghosts. Things that went b.u.mp in the night.

She nodded toward Breisi. "What about her?"

"Whatabouther?"

Dawn wanted to know why the other woman wasn't as aching and bruised as she was, wanted to know why a pet.i.te lab rat had trumped Dawn's own tough a.s.s during the brawl.

"How can she deal with all this?" she asked.

Kiko seemed to actually weigh the act of revealing more about the private Breisi against his own raging need to verbalize anything and everything.

Luckily, he couldn't fight his nature.

He lowered his voice. "Breisi grew up in a bad part of San Diego. I guess her dad was in jail half the time, and her mom was one of those suffer-in-silence types. Breisi told me once that three things got her though those years: the determination to get a college scholarship, the conversations she had with the ghost of herabuelita, and a good right hook." "She sees dead people?" Dawn whispered.

"Not anymore. When she got out of that house on a free ride to USC, the visitations stopped. She could have just been using them as a coping mechanism when she needed it the most." He puffed up a little, the compet.i.tive guy. "That's what I think, anyway."

"And The Voice found her...how?"

"He saw her onBandito. She got that job when a producer spotted her waitressing, and she used some of her salary to save up for engineering grad school. The producers used to worship her. I mean, why not-she's gorgeous and can work the h.e.l.l out of a crying scene. But she never loved acting, just the paycheck. Grad school costs an arm and a leg, even with financial help, and she was sending money to her ingrate mom, too. But"-here, Kiko motioned Dawn closer, and she bent next to him, ear near his mouth-"she eventually got fired and our boss was there to take up whereBanditoleft off. He needed someone who was tech- savvy and she needed...someone. When it comes right down to it, we're more of a real family to Breisi than her other one ever was-"

Kiko cleared his throat when Breisi brushed by them on her way to the mansion's door. Once there, she knocked and sent her coworkers a piercing glance that made Kiko zip his lips.

The house's front porch light blared on, and an old woman, her shoulders hunched, her skin listless, opened the door. Her mouth went agape at seeing the PI team in such disheveled attire.

"Mrs. Pennybaker," Breisi the good cop said. She was holding a dark duffel bag now, and Dawn could only guess at what the h.e.l.l was in it.

"That was a long trip up the driveway," the old woman said.

"We had some matters to attend to before we knocked."

Mrs. Pennybaker broke into an anxious fret. "Are you here with more news about Robby?"

"Not yet, ma'am," Breisi said gently. "I'm sorry."

That one faint glint of Marla Pennybaker's hope exploded in the crumbling of her posture; it reminded Dawn of how those vampires had disappeared into themselves, perishing.

When she looked closer, she saw that this wasn't a senior citizen at all. Mrs. Pennybaker couldn't have been older than her mid- fifties, but she'd been so beaten down by life, by the tragedy of her son, that most of her had already died.

A ghost, Dawn thought. Then she pictured her dad-vital and full of smiles-in all his old pictures with Eva. She remembered the reality of how much he'd changed after her mom had died one month after giving birth to Dawn.

Ghost.

She glanced at Marla Pennybaker again, pitying her. Knowing her.

Because, like this woman, both Dawn and Frank had also lost something along the way.

Making them restless, empty spirits, too.

SIX.

BELOW, PHASEONEWORKINGthe whip with skilled ease, Sorin sent one more lash to the bared back of the pale, ma.s.sive Guard as it cowered against the stone wall.

"S...sorry," the beaten vampire said. "I'm sorry, Master."

Sorin relaxed the whip in mercy as the Guard slumped to the ground of its cell-its home. It had been reduced to groans at its punishment for failing so spectacularly on its mission tonight. The iron of its fangs decorated a grimace; the barb of its sharp tail beat against the stone in pathetic time.

Even though it was Sorin's job to discipline the Guards, among other residents of the Underground, he couldn't bring himself to strike at the poor creature again. It already understood what had gone wrong: the drone, plus his two newly created comrades who had gone Above tonight, had been careless while tracking their quarry. Once they had been detected, they had panicked, attacking when they should have retreated.

That was the problem with the Guards-expendable, lower-rank vampires. They had limited intelligence, the better to follow orders with. Starting immediately, Sorin would have to improve their skills in judging a situation, as well as in how to fight more effectively Above,ifrequired.

"You have learned not to attack any humans who will be missed?" Sorin asked, walking to the corner of the cell where he had set down a bowl of sustenance for the Guard.

At the sight of dinner, the creature's tongue lolled out of its mouth in sad antic.i.p.ation of the cold, secondhand blood. "Yes, Master, yes. Food?"

Sorin tilted the bowl, watching the discarded blood from the feeding he, himself, had enjoyed not ten minutes ago as it lapped against the porcelain. Disgusting, this cold, leftover meal, but it was what kept the Guards alive and happy.

He set the bowl on the ground, locking gazes with the red-eyed creature as it began panting for its meal. When Sorin left the unlocked cell, the vampire buried its face in the bowl, sucking and growling in pleasure.

Heading for the emporium, Sorin left the creature to its ecstasy and walked the electric lamplined tunnels that held the Guards'

cells.

His harsh treatment with the whip did not bother him. Now was the time for vigilance, as far as matters Above were concerned; that is why the Guards had finally been sent up. In the past year, there had been a breach of security, an escape, and a crack in the armor of their leadership. During these trying times, it was more important than ever to keep calm, to remain hidden and discreet under the streets of Los Angeles. The Underground had been flourishing for barely over half a century-a speck of time in the history of the world-but what they had established was something worth protecting.

Sorin was not about to allow one wrinkle to ruin it all.

As he pulled open the heavy steel door that fortified the emporium, he was overcome by a veritable misted baccha.n.a.l. Sheer veils all but masked the silken beds decorating the marbled floors as incense and loud, primal music laced the air. On those beds, bare bodies, their skin glistening with sweat and exotic oils, twined together. Sorin pa.s.sed one particular large, circular, pillow-strewn mattress, where a band of Groupies, silver-eyed, lithe, and gorgeous in their preternatural states, were entertaining three human Servants whom they had invited from Above for the night. With slow, predatory grace, they slid against each other, legs spreading, tongues licking, voices moaning. One Groupie, a pet.i.te brunette wearing nothing but a belly chain, was crawling toward a Servant from Above who worked as a Wilshire Boulevard talent agent. She kissed her way up his shin, his thigh, his hip and stomach and chest, pausing at his neck. There she sucked at him, toying with him as he writhed beneath her, then- Pure need clenched inside Sorin as she bit into the Servant, nursing at him while the others scented his blood and nipped at his exposed skin, drawing their own red.

Never enough, Sorin thought, continuing past the mammoth screens that showcased MTV and connected them to the world Above, past a landscaped waterfall pool, where one of their elite citizens lounged under the kisses of a Groupie.A little blood is never enough.

Citizens greeted him with royal deference, turning from their crystal flutes filled with blood and bowing, touching their fingers to their foreheads as he walked by. It was not until he reached the fringes of the room, where dark met velvet, that he could melt into the shadows behind a heavy red drape. There, he traveled another tunnel until he reached a door that the eye would have to be trained to see. Pressing a stone panel, he entered his Master's domain.

TheMaster.

As usual, he sat in the dark, in one of his black moods. Sorin's vampire sight caught the red haze of the Master's outline, the emptiness of his soul.

Even his television-the lifeline to Above-was silent.

The Master had been keeping to himself for years now, away from the Groupies and Servants and Guards. Only Sorin, the second in command, and the elite citizens gained audience with the Master, and that was because the Elites' silence was guaranteed through an exchange of blood and money: they did not dare reveal that Sorin was not really the one in charge of the Underground.

Their punishment for that would be swift and devastating.

But, these past few years, the Master's loneliness had reached a peak, and this concerned Sorin.

"News?" the Master asked in a lifeless whisper, one that all but covered a foreign accent that had faded with time and educated effort.

Sorin tried not to lose hope at this further evidence of decline. Over three centuries ago, when the Master had first made Sorin a vampire, he was full of colorful moods and the desire to explore. But gradually that had changed. Sorin had noticed the exhaustion, the almost destructive carelessness with which the Master had been making decisions lately.

He was tired of existing, and that was living death for a vampire.

Sorin could not stand by and watch it happen. Could not bear to see his maker waste away. As a first step to righting matters, he settled on giving the positive news before the negative. "All the Elites, except the one, are doing well."

"Good." He sounded disinterested.

Sorin's frustration welled. That led to anger and impulse. "Would it elicit a reaction if I mentioned that three Guards had a run-in with humans tonight? And these humans happen to be ones our Servants and Groupies have noticed asking questions Above during the last year? They killed two Guards."

A shimmer of movement told Sorin that the Master had become more interested. "I did feel something earlier..."

Sorin remained calm, vampire-cool. "Youfeltsomething a year ago as well, Master, but after the initial scare, you were lax. You have-"

"That's enough, Sorin."

He fisted his hands. He wanted to say so much more. Wanted to remind the Master that his Awareness was the first defense against danger, that if another master was in the area, they needed to discover if his intentions were civil or malicious. A lot had happened since all the masters had separated and created their own secret undergrounds over a century ago. And, once some of the others were discovered, there had been takeovers, wipeouts of entire vampire societies, although it was true that the other masters did not always have ill intentions. Some of them were loners, seeking to join established undergrounds; some wished to wed their own societies with a more dominant one in order to strengthen their numbers.Perhaps the Master had not aggressively responded to the first throb of Awareness one year ago because he did not wish to face what had occurred with hisfirstUnderground. Understandable, yet Sorin had attempted time and again to convince his maker to be proactive in any matters of defense. He recalled the terror of losing the first paradise all too well. However, with the threat, the Master had seemed to delve that much deeper into secrecy, avoiding the issue, without taking the precautions Sorin feared they required.

All the same, did the Master not see what could happen? Sorin knew that his maker's mind powers-the Awareness that allowed him to feel those other masters and keep track of his own blood children-had grown weak with boredom and lack of care. In Sorin's opinion, this left the Underground vulnerable, and he had a heavy feeling that the Master was in the process of surrendering, though it was impossible for a master to commit suicide, due to the oath taken so long ago.

But if the Master had lost his will...

The older vampire sighed, world-weary and final. "Go outside and play, Sorin. We both know that hunters are legion in this country, in Los Angeles. We've dealt with them and eluded them for years."

"Even so," Sorin continued, risking his Master's further wrath-an emotion he would have welcomed at this point-"you have already had one notable sign of danger-the Awareness you felt of another and have been shielding against for a year." Here, Sorin heard the Master lean forward in his chair, and the bold gesture pushed him to continue. "Andnowyou have these humans who are capable of decimating two Guards...."

Sorin stopped, wondering if he had overstepped his bounds, glad to have done so.

"Go on," the Master said.

Holding back a victorious smile-finally, some concern-Sorin added, "Our surviving Guard told me something disturbing. While listening, they heard the humans mention Frank Madison, and one of their own referred to him as being her father."

"Really." The Master slowly sat back in his chair, then gave a short, mirthless laugh.

There, Sorin thought. Another flicker of interest, a flinch of the sleeping giant.

Ever since the invention of moving pictures, the Master had been enthralled. He watched all the movies, learned from them, even lived through them. Eva Claremont's life was manna to him-her films, her A& E biography, her E! Entertainment special reports.

"Eva Claremont's daughter was at the Pennybakers'," the Master said, as if turning the thought over in his mind, prodding it to see how it reacted under an outside influence.

"I a.s.sume she is looking for her father."

"She probably is. And maybe that's all there is to it."

Silence buzzed the darkness as the second in command waited for the Master to filter the information, to command Sorin in his pa.s.sion to keep the Underground safe.

But when the Master did not say another word, Sorin braved one last comment.

"Keeping track of these humans is a necessity. I request more of a presence Above, even if we have to press more Servants into service, or if..."

Sorin gestured to his chest, offering himself up for anything the Master might require.

All the same, black silence reigned while Sorin deferred to his maker, all but raging while the Master decided if he cared enough to protect the Underground.... Or if Sorin would have to take matters into his own hands right here and now.

SEVEN.

THEGHOST OF THEPAST.

THEPennybakers' air-conditioned parlor was a stark depository for blunt art: paintings and sculptures which were all circles and squares, severe black-cushioned furniture, white walls. The decor echoed Robby's mom, who looked like her soul had been turned into a deadened room ever since the death of her son twenty-three years ago.

Right now, Breisi was poised on the couch next to Nathan Pennybaker, her casual manner disguising what Dawn recognized as building questions. Sure, there'd been some introductory small talk after the missus had expressed her surprise at seeing the bruised and torn Limpet a.s.sociates at her front door, but it'd only been a formality.