Vampire - Blood Red Part 43

Judy Lockwood, aware that idle hands and idle minds were never good, kept up with her knitting, hour after hour. But as she looked down at her st.i.tches, she suddenly had an uncanny feeling and looked up.

Leticia was awake.

She wasn't just awake. She was straining against her restraints and staring at Judy. "The hour has come."

Judy frowned, then hurried to her niece's side. "Leticia, thank the Lord, you're awake."

Leticia didn't seem to see her, though. She only repeated, "The hour has come."

"What hour, Leticia? What hour?" Judy asked, frowning.

Leticia stared straight at her then, as if noticing her for the first time. "I saw him. He was killing a woman in the Square."

Judy thought that maybe she should call for a doctor.

But she didn't.

She made a different call, instead.

Mark practically flew into the house. Jonas was right behind him.

"Where's Lauren?" Mark demanded of Maggie, who only stared at him, stricken. The others were there, as well, Big Jim, Bobby and Stacey. But there was no sign of Lauren, or of Heidi and Deanna.

"She got away from me at the library," Maggie said.

"Deanna?" Jonas cried.

No one moved. They only looked guiltily away. He finally paid attention to his surroundings and realized that the grand entry hall of the mansion looked like a strange a.r.s.enal, with all kinds of bizarre weapons arranged in rows. There were a slew of water pistols. Bows and arrows. Stakes and hammers. Everyone was wearing a large cross. They were prepared.

But they were alone.

He turned, ready to accuse Jonas, but the man looked so stricken that Mark could only conclude that he really was good, or else he was such an accomplished actor that he should have been a stand-in for Benedict Arnold.

"Exactly what happened?" Mark demanded, looking from face to face.

"Heidi was sleeping. I checked on her every few minutes," Stacey said.

"Deanna was downstairs with us," Bobby said.

Heidi and Deanna had walked out on their own, Mark knew. Stephan hadn't gotten in-except into their minds.

He swung around to stare accusingly at Maggie.

Where had Lauren gone when she left the library? The nightmare that had plagued him forever was alive and vivid in his mind's eye.

A bride in white, walking down the aisle, her eyes aglow with love.

And then the blood, the rivers of blood...

"Has anyone gotten hold of Sean?" he asked.

"Yes," Maggie said.

Just then Mark's phone rang. He answered and heard Sean Canady's voice. "The Square," he said simply. "A fortune-teller was attacked in her tent."

Mark turned around, heading for the door. "The Square!" he shouted.

"Wait!" Bobby yelled.

But Mark wasn't waiting.

"Catch up with me!" he commanded.

Lauren was torn. The ambulance would be there any second. She couldn't leave Susan.

But she had to leave Susan. Because she had to save Heidi.

What if Susan died-as she probably would-because she had tried to warn her away when Stephan had been with her?

Stephan was a vicious b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He killed for his own pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt. He only let his victims "live" sometimes so he could enjoy their even greater torment.

Or to create his army.

And Heidi would never have been one of Stephan's victims if not for her.

There was no help for it. She had to find her friend.

As she left through the back flap, she heard the paramedics approaching the tent and prayed they weren't too late.

Mark reached the Square to find a scene of utter chaos. An ambulance and two police cars were parked in the middle of the pedestrian area. Artists, singers, musicians and tourists were standing around in awkward groups, some being questioned by the police, others just curious to see what all the fuss was about.

Mark forced his way through the crowd to where an officer was holding everyone back and fielding questions.

"She was attacked," one bystander said. "I saw them bring her out. She was covered in blood."

"Was it him? Was it the man who threw those women into the river?" someone else asked.

He had to get into the ambulance, Mark decided. And it didn't matter how.

Just then Sean Canady pulled up in his car. He saw Mark and beckoned him over.

"I have to speak to Susan," Mark said.

"I have to get to her. I have to," Mark told Sean.

They strode over to the rescue vehicle. The back door was still open; Susan was inside, lying on a stretcher.

"You'll have to question her later, lieutenant," the med-tech said. "She's in bad shape, lost a lot of blood. The wound on her head...it's amazing her entire skull wasn't caved in. We're getting ready to take off."

"This man needs a minute with her," Canady said.

"All right. Come in. But she's probably dying. She's hanging on by a thread."

Mark leapt up and took Susan's hands in his own. He willed strength into her, prayed that she would open her eyes.

She didn't.

But her lips began to move.

He leaned close to her.

She could barely form words.

But he managed to understand.

17.

I t seemed to Lauren as if they'd been driving forever.

The beautiful pink light of twilight had gone to deepest red, and now it was fading altogether. No, that wasn't true. There was still light. Red light. Blood red light, like a mist over the moon.

Suddenly, the cab driver stopped and turned in his seat to stare back at Lauren. "We're here. Twenty-two fifty," he told her.

They were there?

Where?

Then she realized that she was in front of what should have been a lovely home and realized that it had been destroyed by the Katrina flooding. In fact, the whole neighborhood had been flooded out.That was why there were no lights except one streetlight. The connection was weak, though, or maybe the bulb was about to go, because it kept flickering on and off.

"Twenty-two-fifty," the cabby repeated. "Look, lady, this is where you asked to be let off, and now I gotta go. Give me your money and get out of the car. I'm not staying here. If you're crazy enough to, be my guest. If not, it's another twenrt-two-fifty back to civilization."

She dug in her purse for the money. At the same time, she tucked two of the water pistols into the waistband of her jeans and pulled the tails of her tailored denim shirt down to cover them. Then she paid the cabby, but apparently she hesitated too long for his taste.

"Lady, I'm getting out of here," he warned her.

"Sure. And thanks. Thanks a lot. Service with a smile," she countered.

She was barely out of the cab when he gunned the motor and shot away.

She stared up at the dark house. It had been beautiful once. As she moved closer, she could see a faded advertis.e.m.e.nt for the development the house was part of. It had been called Arcadia. Old luxury with modern convenience, the billboard explained.

Every house a variant of the original mansion. The one she was standing in front of. It must have dated back nearly two hundred years, and it had been meticulously restored.

Then abandoned.

As she stood in the darkness, she saw that there was light inside. Pale, barely showing beneath the drapes that covered every window.

Lauren fingered the cross that Mark had given her. She needed strength so badly. Her knees were giving out on her. She felt a rush of fear and knew she couldn't give in to it.

As she stood there, staring at the house, the night changed abruptly.

The sky darkened, and when she looked up, it seemed that the moon rode across a sea of red.

The darkness around her seemed to swoop and swerve. Giant shadows, changing, forming, coming close to her.

The breeze whispered.

Grew louder.

And then it wasn't the breeze whispering at all. It was the sound of laughter, soft and throaty and all around her.

A strand of her hair rose, and she shuddered; it felt as if one of the shadows had touched her face.

She gritted her teeth and fought the urge to run. The din seemed to grow, laughter rising.

Her hair was tugged.

Pulled.

The shadows began to take form, and then, suddenly, people were standing before her, at least twelve of them, all men. They were all dressed in black. Black jeans, chinos, even dress pants. Black T-shirtss, polos, dress shirts. Some were young, others older. And they were all amused.

One man stepped forward. Stephan, standing tallest, and very dark. He was wearing a black poet's shirt and trousers that clung to his muscular legs. He wore black boots, as well, that covered his calves.

"Welcome," he told her.

"Don't welcome me. You know I don't want to be here. But you have my friend."

"I have both your friends, and if you're lucky and very well-behaved, they just may live. Come. Come closer."

"No."

He shrugged. "Take her," he said casually.

The others closed in around her. She heard someone moving at her back, and he was close, far too close. She thought she could feel his fetid breath, teasing at her nape.

Her fear peaked. and she realized that she had to move-or die.

So she moved.