Vampire - Deep Midnight Part 2

Jordan stiffened at her cousin's tone. She looked down at her hands, counting to ten.

Steven had been dead for over a year. She had accepted the fact. She was not psychotic. At his death, she had been devastated, and she had grieved, and she had been angry, but she had never been paranoid.

She stared at Jared icily. "This has nothing to do with Steven. Nothing at all. It has to do with last night. Historically, there have been monsters, human monsters," Jordan said.

"And many of them very rich and exceedingly well positioned."

Jared let out a snort of aggravation. He leaned toward her.

"Jordan, get it straight. You were tricked, fooled. I understood at first; you were scared, worried sick, but you've been told that the whole thing was a masquerade, an entertainment. If you persist with this, you're going to destroy my relationship with the contessa, and ruin my entire livelihood," he said, his words beginning with a tone of impatience, and finishing with a ring bordering on anger. "Trust me-the contessa is an important, worldly and responsible woman. She gives huge sums of money to charities, and she enjoys entertainment, even scary entertainment. She is not any kind of a cultist."

The last word stung like a slap, as did the edge in his voice. Jordan chose to ignore his tone.

To herself, she admitted that this morning, seated in the rooftop restaurant of the Danieli, with their attentive waiters polite and cheerful and very normal in their uniforms, she should have been able to let it go. It had all been explained to her.

Yet, she had kept on trying to explain what she had seen the night before!

Even the police had been angry with her at the end of last night. Still, as a book reviewer lucky enough to have earned a large syndicated audience, she'd brought work with her on this vacation. In the pile of advanced reading copies and galleys to be reviewed- including volumes of fiction and nonfiction-she'd happened to have a new book written by a Hollywood producer. The writer had been responsible for some of the most popular horror fiction seen at the movies in the past decade. It was a good book, and it went way beyond the movies, tracing the facts beyond the legends and myths that had sprung up through time throughout the world.

Jordan had listened to the explanations, the patience, the laughter, the anger. She'd witnessed a show they told her. A show! A d.a.m.ned perverse show, and if that had been the contessa's idea of entertainment, she hadn't been in the least amused. Jared, so convinced that his relationship with the contessa was his key to the movers and shakers of Venice, wouldn't even consider the possibility that something evil might have occurred at the palazzo, even without the contessa's knowledge or cooperation. Nor would he support Jordan in her anger that the contessa should never have hired such sick entertainment.

"Jared, you're wrong. Very wrong. I am not letting my imagination get the best of me, I do not believe in ghosts, goblins or spirits, but I do know that bad things happen. And beyond just the bad, there are people out there who believe that they themselves are something supernatural. Listen to this, pay attention, and remember, this is just one of dozens of doc.u.mented cases involving real people. Antoine Leger, a French ma.s.s murderer, was a cannibal-and he drank blood," she informed him evenly, her finger on the page as she stared at her cousin. "He went to the guillotine in 1824, a truly horrible man who deserved his fate. His crime? He hid out in the woods, waiting for his prey like a viper. Then he would strike out at young girls, rape them, kill them, drink their blood, and dine on their hearts."

Cindy, who had been sitting quietly with them at the table, looked at Jordan with dismay. With an infinite patience now lacking in her husband, she reached over and gently touched Jordan's hand. "You're reading a book. It's just stories."

"This is not fiction! "Jordan protested. "I explained that this man was real-"

Jared set his cup of coffee down with an impatience that threatened to break crockery.

"It's a book of stories, fiction, a work on vampires in film and legend," Jared said with exasperation.

"It's a book about vampires in films, books and history, "Jordan corrected, trying not to raise her voice.

She and Jared were both only children. They had been raised together, and usually, they were as close as if they had been born brother and sister. She understood that he loved this city, and that it was important for him to befriend people such as the contessa, yet it was still very hard for her to accept what she had seen as entertainment.

"Jordan-"

"Jared, I just can't believe you won't even consider the possibility that something did happen last night!"

She knew that she was pushing it, but despite all the a.s.surances that been given to her after the ball, and despite the beautiful, cool, sunlit Venetian morning, and her cousin's current discomfort, she couldn't let it go.

Near her, people drank their espresso and cafe con latte, laughed, chatted, and read their papers with utter normalcy. The world was light now, bright with sunshine, filled with talk, a mult.i.tude of languages, even the very down-to-earth cry of a baby. But no matter what explanations had been given to her, her hours of sleep had been punctuated by vivid, grotesque dreams of the 'show' she had witnessed the previous night.

It had all happened so fast...

She had somehow gotten the startled oarsman to understand her desire to get to a police station, despite the fact that in her horror and fear, she had forgotten every single word of Italian she had known. Luckily, police and polizia were close enough for the man to understand, and she had found herself taken to a station of the local carabinieri. There, she had found a kindly officer who spoke English, and he had a.s.sured her that the situation would be investigated immediately, even though he seemed doubtful when she told him she had been at the palazzo of the Contessa della Trieste. Babbling and close to hysteria at first-deeply frantic then for Jared and Cindy-she had told him about the story-telling and playacting that had ended in real blood and real death, and that there had been a roomful of costumed people turning into monsters who had attacked the others even as they had stood and watched and laughed. Cafe latte laced strongly with brandy helped calm her. She finally spoke with enough reason and conviction to send the officers off en ma.s.se, despite the fact that it was Fat Tuesday and all kinds of charades and masquerades were going on, and she was speaking about the palazzo of a very well-known woman.

The carabinieri had returned with Jared and Cindy-and the contessa. They had all come in worried, but the contessa had also been amused from the beginning, even though she seemed to be apologizing-she hadn't expected such gullibility from such a lovely and sophisticated American girl. Actually, she had been d.a.m.ned condescending. At that point, however, Jared had acted like her older brother, showing his deep concern for her panic and fear, holding her, eyes worried as they probed hers, his tone very gentle as he explained she had been caught in a bit of elaborate theater, scary Carnevale fun, and that there had been nothing really violent or gruesome in what she had seen, and certainly, nothing murderous had taken place.

He hadn't known about that particular piece of scary fun the contessa had planned, and the contessa hadn't known about Steven. It was probably even natural that Jordan had been so terrified at what had really been no more than a haunted house display. But now that she knew ...

Jordan had persisted then. She tried to convince the contessa that some of her guests had been madmen, and that perhaps she'd had no idea of what had been happening at her own party, but murders had taken place. The contessa shook her beautiful head with sorrow and regret. The kindly English-speaking officer cleared his throat, and told Jordan that they had searched the palazzo. All they had found were costumed guests, a few still wearing their fake blood, all contrite that they had frightened her so badly.

"But I'm telling you, I saw people die," she said. "Go back-they've cleaned it up. I don't know much about police procedure, but perhaps if you were to use Luminal-"

It was then, Jordan was certain that the contessa got angry, for she began speaking rapidly in Italian to the officers, inhaling deeply for patience, then speaking to Jordan again. "My dear, as you are Jared's cousin, I will forgive this terrible affront, but you must simply forget all the silly movies you Americans see and accept the fact that we, too, have a sense of fun and the macabre. And," she added quietly, "what happened to your fiance.

Jared has explained to me, of course, about your past, and so, dear child, I do understand, and my heart goes out to you. My palazzo remains open to you. You are dear to me, as the cousin of Jared, and you must come anytime and see that the festivities and the amus.e.m.e.nts are over, and that we did nothing but provide a party and a charade. Dear, dear, Jordan, poor dear. I am so sorry, but please! You must be sane and rational about this!"

"Yes, and we must let the contessa go home," Jared said firmly, and before she could protest longer, the police were apologizing to the contessa and ushering them out to the street. The contessa had kissed Jordan's cheek with cold lips, urging her again to come by at any time. Despite their growing impatience, the police had remained kind to her throughout, far kinder than Jared when-after the contessa had departed in her private launch-she had kept trying to explain that she had seen real blood, nearly perished herself, and been rescued by a man in wolf's clothing.

"Where is this man?" Jared had demanded.

"He leaped with me from the balcony, then .. . disappeared into the fog."

They stared at her as if she had entirely lost her mind. Yes, poor Jordan. G.o.d knew, maybe she needed to be committed to the closest facility for the insane.

Back at the hotel, Cindy had managed to find a concierge who made Jordan tea, and then offered to sleep in her room. Jared's sigh of impatience had caused her to decline.

But alone in her handsome, antiques-laden room in what she truly considered to be one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, she still had not been able to sleep. It had been the words of the contessa that had caused her to dig into her pile of work, and find the book written by the movie producer. She tried to read before realizing that Cindy had slipped a Valium into her tea. She had fallen asleep with the book in her hand, but the Valium hadn't stopped her dreams. She had witnessed the events time and time again; she dreamed that she awoke, that a huge silver wolf guarded her window. He was framed in the shutters that opened to the pedestrian walk and ca.n.a.l where just hours before, the last sounds of laughter and revelry had faded into the darkness and shadows of the moonlit night Okay, so the party and the Valium had caused her some serious nightmares. That didn't stop her belief that maybe ...

She broke off her own thought painfully, then continued with it.

Yes, maybe some cultists or some wretched coldblooded murderers had been at work.

Jared leaned toward her, at the rooftop restaurant of the Danieli, all attempts at patience suddenly lost. "Jordan, please, I am begging you-you've got to stop. These are people I work with. The contessa is incredibly important to my job, my position here in Italy, to my career, my life! If you keep up with this, you will destroy me. Can't you understand? A party, masks, costumes, a haunted house, special effects, elaborate, yes! The contessa likes to have the best ball, the most talked-about. Leave it-leave it alone.

All of Venice will be talking as it is. You will destroy me, don't you understand?"

"Jared, I'm telling you-"

"And the police have told you. And the contessa left her party to come to you, because you were so frightened. Everyone has bent over backward to explain what went on to you, and you refuse to accept it!"

"Jared, you weren't there-"

He got up, throwing his napkin on the table. "I have to go. Jordan, get a f.u.c.king grip before you ruin my life!"

"Jared!" Cindy protested, speaking out again at last "Jordan is your cousin, your flesh and blood-"

"Which she seems to have forgotten. You sit here and listen to her make up wild stories and convince herself that monsters exist." He stared hard at Jordan, placing his hands on the table to look into her eyes. "I'm sorry, so sorry about what happened to Steve.

We've tried to be with you. To support you. And you've been good, Jordan. Sane. But Carnevale has apparently touched off something inside you. Again, I'm sorry, but I've had it. I'm tired-and guess what? I have a lot of bridges to mend today. I have to see a lot of people and apologize for my cousin behaving so insanely."

He turned and left, striding angrily from the terrace. Cindy, standing awkwardly, stared down at Jordan where she was sitting. "I know he doesn't mean to be so . .."

"Cindy, you don't need to apologize to me for Jared," Jordan murmured.

Wrong thing to say. Cindy instantly became defensive. She sat again and stared at Jordan.

"Jordan, you've got to realize that you are risking his job, that he's friends with these people, that the contessa is very important to his work." Cindy sighed. "Honestly, Jordan, I know that you were really scared, and we should be there for you, but it's true, it was all explained to you. With concern, care, and a great deal of empathy. And you have this foolish book with you, making it all the worse."

"Signorina, more coffee?"

Jordan looked up. Even their kindly waiter was staring at her sympathetically. Had he heard all about the crazy American who had gone bananas last night at the contessa's macabre party, inviting the police to a bit of sport? Maybe she was being an idiot and she should see it all Jared's way. Entertainment. d.a.m.ned b.l.o.o.d.y entertainment, but then, the contessa had been right about one thing-the gore had been no worse than what she should be accustomed to from American movies. Although, she might have countered, Italian filmmakers, such as Mario Brava, were surely just as gruesome.

She resolved not to try to convince Cindy anymore that there were monsters loose in Venice. Maybe she was overreacting. Perhaps she had been reading too much, too long.

The sun was shining. It was a beautiful morning, especially for a winter's day.

She smiled for the waiter. There was no sense in trying to convince any of them-they hadn't been there, they hadn't seen. Who had? A group of masked strangers she would never recognize again. Enough coffee. She needed to move.

To be alone.

"No, basta, grazie, signore," she murmured. She stood, ready to walk away. Cindy looked at her with sudden panic. "Jordan-"

"Signora?" the waiter said, questioning Cindy. Surely, someone wanted more coffee.

"No, grazie, basta. It conto, per favore," Cindy said quickly. She started to rise as well.

"Jordan, wait, where are you going?"

"Don't worry. I'm not off to the police again. I'm just going for a walk around the Square."

The waiter had gone to get the check as Cindy had asked. Jordan had tried to sign most of the bills to her room as a thank-you for all that Cindy and Jared had done for her here.

This morning, Cindy could sign. Jared had been a horse's a.s.s.

"I don't think you should go out alone-" Cindy said, frowning in protest.

"Why? You just told me there are no monsters out there. It's all in my mind.

Entertainment."

"But you're upset-"

"And apparently, I have to get over it."

"Jordan, wherever you're going, I'll go with you-"

"I just need to walk, Cindy. Alone."

"Jordan, please ..."

Cindy looked so upset that Jordan forgot some of her fear as well as irritation with Jared. She paused, touching Cindy's cheek. "I'm okay, honestly. I'm going to walk around the Square and look into some of the jewelry store windows."

"But you can get better deals off the Square. You'll find nothing but tourist prices. I'll take you to some more moderate places-"

"Cindy, you're a sweetheart. I love you, honest to G.o.d, and I'm not in the least upset with you. See you later."

"Don't forget that we're going to the artist's ball tonight-"

"I won't," Jordan said, and determined, she shoved the vampire book into her large carryall bag and started out of the restaurant. She didn't wait for the elevator, but started down the steps of the hotel, noting none of the beautiful decor which usually held her so enthralled. On the ground floor, she encountered a bevy of activity. The parties in Venice would last the week. A costume shop had been opened behind the concierge desk, and people were milling about, renting costumes, returning them, talking about various parties and events. The registration desk was busy as well, with travelers coming and going, and the bar and salon seemed equally busy. Making her way through the crowd, she suddenly felt as if she was being watched. She turned, irritated with herself, hoping she wouldn't have this feeling of everyone looking at her all day.

She wasn't being absurd-she was being watched. Openly. An attractive young woman was staring straight at her while whispering to a stocky, older man standing by her. She saw Jordan look at her. She didn't blush, look away or pretend in any way that she hadn't been talking about her.

The woman approached Jordan. Frowning, Jordan waited. As the woman neared her, Jordan realized that she wasn't as young as she had first thought. From a distance, she might have been in her mid-twenties. At closer range, she was closer to forty, extremely trim and shapely, her hair cut stylishly short and highlighted to a silvery blond. Smiling, she extended a slim hand heavy with rings. "h.e.l.lo, Miss Riley. I'm Tiff Henley, a fellow American." Jordan accepted the hand that had been offered her. "h.e.l.lo, how are you? Yes, I'm Jordan Riley, but..."

"We never met last night, but I was at the ball. I'm so glad that you seem to be doing well. You caused quite a stir last evening."

Jordan felt a flush covering her cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you-"

"I believe you wound up on the second floor during the entertainment, while most of us were dining and dancing on the ground floor. I didn't see the show, but you know, the contessa is known for her extravagance, so I'm sure it must have been simply wicked. I'm not that familiar with the contessa, but I've heard that she never leaves a party with guests still in attendance, so she must care for you very much. You are all right?"

So this manicured socialite had been at the ball as well. And she had been whispering about Jordan. Jordan Riley, the American woman who had called the police in on one of the most notable women in Venetian society. Great. Maybe everyone in the city had heard about her, and was whispering.

In the bright light of the elegant hotel, with dozens of people near, Jordan did suddenly feel somewhat foolish. Had the entertainment been so excellent and professional, the special effects so good, that she had let her imagination take flight?

"I suppose I did create quite a stir. I'm afraid it all seemed very real," Jordan said. The woman was still sizing her up. For Jared's sake-even if he was being a horse's a.s.s-she was going to appear sane.

"You're a writer?" Tiff Henley queried.

Tiff? Was that short for Tiffany? The woman looked like a Tiffany-all decked out in diamonds, hair a mix of champagne and silver, her long wool dress and jacket stylishly cut to the perfection of her figure.

"Book critic, "Jordan said. "If I could write, I would. I'm afraid my talent is in finding treasures put out by others. And you ... ?" She queried politely.

Tiff smiled ruefully. "I'm simply filthy rich," she said. "But not well known in the best circles of society. Well, there, that admitted, would you like to have coffee sometime?"

The woman was openly friendly, brash, and had probably become filthy rich in some scandalous way.

"Sure, I'd love to," Jordan said.

"Maybe tomorrow?"

Why not? Jordan thought. "Sounds great. Are you staying here?"

Tiff shook her champagne-toned head. "No, I'm here with a friend, Mack over there-"

she pointed out the stout man-"who needs a costume for the artist's ball tonight. Are you going?"

"Yes, I believe we are."

"You'll enjoy it. The tickets are cheap, the food is so-so. The artist's ball celebrates the often talented and more often broke creative element in Venice for Carnevale. And, when all else fails, the drinks are usually strong."

"I'll see you there then," Jordan told her.

"You're not supposed to actually see me-I'll be costumed, of course. But we'll find one another. And make arrangements for coffee. I've rented a villa, next island over. It's a fabulous old place, owned by the family of a doge long past. If you like, you can come there. Great history, ghosts, scandal, and all. I'll tell you some of the tales I've been told. Oh! Sorry. I mean, I don't want to scare you or anything-"

"I'm really not scared that easily," Jordan a.s.sured her.