.
Something was dripping on her face. It smelled fetid and foul, and it brought Xanna to herself in an instant. She sat bolt upright, and bashed her head against an overhanging stone abutment. Cursing her stupidity, she held her pounding head in both hands and looked around.
As she had suspected, and now remembered, she was in the "body vault" in a cemetery. During the winter, they stored coffins and bodies here, until the ground thawed enough to bury them. It was the only place she could think of that no one would enter that had no light. There were no coffins here now, being July. She had fled here after taking a few valuables from her apartment. She had been so very afraid that Janis would call some authority who knew what to do to vampires, and lead them to her. She had made a whirlwind circuit of her apartment, picking up a few things that she didn't want the priests, the police, whoever Janis was running to, to find and take. She stuffed those precious things and a few clothes into her duffle bag, and ran like the devil himself were chasing her.
In a quiet moment, just before her daylight sleep claimed her, she found herself thinking, God, I'm so glad I didn't find the time to buy a coffin.
But now, what am I going to do? she thought, staring up at the walls of the vault. Janis will go to her newspaper with what she found, and then, I'll be hunted down, and killed. And so will Mike . . . . Her thoughts trailed off in despair, and she closed her eyes, willing the bloody tears not to come.
"Why should I care what happens to him?" she whispered, trying to build up the fire of her anger again. "He's the one who made me into this! I should be glad he's going to be destroyed!" But her words echoed hollowly in her ears, and made no impression on the vault, where the dead had lain in peace for decades.
She felt a single tear trickle down her cheek. And I really liked Janis, too. And she had to go and do this.
She's a reporter, that's her job, part of her mind whispered. She's supposed to do things like this. Someone gets murdered, she tells the public. Someone is killed in a car crash, she tells the public. Someone turns out to be a vampire . . . .
She noticed she was shaking. It must be just because I'm afraid, she assured herself. It can't be the other reason, not so soon. It was just last night. But it wouldn't stop, and she continued trembling. "Oh, please, God, no! Not this again!" she prayed fervently. She bent her head until it touched her knees, and sat hunched in that position for many minutes, able to do nothing. When she lifted herself up off the dank floor of the vault, she knew what she had to do. Tonight, she had to hunt again.
She pushed open the vault's often unused door, wincing as it squeaked loudly. She pondered her knowledge of Crixton for a moment, and then set off in search of blood.
The first thing Trenton did was tackle that woman from behind and try to smash her camera. That didn't work, because, even in her fear, she'd remembered to put it back into her bag. Then he tried to steal her purse. "Gimme your money!" he growled, attempting to make her think it was a mugging, trying to confuse the issue. That didn't work either, because she squirmed and wriggled around, shrieking all the while in terror, and managed to reach into her bag and grab a can of pepper spray.
By now, people were flocking out onto the street in response to her screams. He looked up for a moment, trying to gauge how far away they were, how much time he had, which might have been his fatal mistake. Something hissed straight into his eyes, blinding him. He felt a solid punch to his jaw as his mouth opened to scream from the pain in his eyes. Off balance from the pepper spray, he toppled off the woman, onto the sidewalk. He lay there for a moment, clawing at his eyes, and wailing at a high pitch. His vision refused to clear, and Trenton realized painfully that things just weren't going his way tonight, and it might be wise to beat a hasty retreat. He lurched to his feet, and ran blindly away, stumbling and crashing into street lights, fire hydrants, and mercifully, only a few people.
He ran until he felt his lungs would burst. His eyes were streaming with tears, both from exertion and pain. He leaned up against the corner of a building, panting, and wondering how he could make that woman give over her camera. What would scare her sufficiently to make her gladly surrender it? Then he understood exactly what he had just done.
He had failed. Miserably. And the Old Man wasn't going to take kindly to it. In fact, considering the magnitude of his actions, and that he may have just let the human world know that vampires actually did exist, Cameron was definitely going to be less than pleased with him. And that was most certainly not good. He meditated for a minute on what had happened to the last person in his position, when he had failed, and not even half as publicly, at what Cameron had ordered him to do. He had been there when the Old Man had carried out the sentence, and it hadn't been an amiable parting at all.
"Oh, God," he groaned, rubbing futilely at his eyes, "I am going to die." But first, he knew he would have to find a place where he could wash out his eyes, and then find his way back to Cameron's offices before reporting, in person, that he had committed a snafu of tremendous proportions. And it had to be done tonight, so that woman could be stopped, if she decided to publish her shocking discovery. Even if she were scoffed at and not believed, it was still too great a chance for the undead to take. And he knew it, even being human himself, from having associated with them for so long.
"Jesus, what have I done?" He gave his eyes one last stinging rub with his fingers, and shambled away, limping slightly, and feeling his swelling jaw.
Those blue eyes were no longer the color of sapphires; they glowed from within, a bright red with anger. His face was livid with fury, and his tall, lean frame loomed to greater heights in his anger. One of his slim, almost aristocratic hands clenched into a powerful fist, and crashed down upon the desk, tipping the crystal vase and sending a few other trinkets to the floor.
"You did what?" he roared.
Trenton cowered. It seemed odd to see a man of McDonnel's greater size and weight tremble in front of this fine boned man, who, in the light, had a few streaks of silver in his hair. Had Cameron been human, Trenton could have taken him down easily. They both knew it; in his human life, Cameron would have been considered a handsome wimp, far too thin to have any real muscle.
Had Cameron been human, that is. But he was a vampire, and that, they also both knew. With vampirism, with the craving and need for blood, came greater speed and strength, as well as other abilities, beyond any human comprehension.
Trenton hadn't said a word beyond, "Sir, I have some terrible news to report." Cameron had read the rest in his mind before he even opened his mouth. Trenton then had the dubious pleasure of watching color flood Cameron's normally white cheeks, and seeing his eyes glow red in outrage. He had never seen the vampire's true height; whenever Cameron had need of his services, he generally gave his orders sitting in the wing back chair. Now, he rose to his full height, and Trenton felt the full force of Cameron's gaze upon him.
"You did what?" Cameron thundered again, this time closing his hand around a exquisite crystal goblet that had recently held a fine vintage of blood, that of a choice young woman. It shattered in his grip, and the pieces tinkled to the desk top. He threw the fragments he still held to the desk as well, and ignored the ones imbedded in his palm. In the blink of an eye, he leaped over the desk and had him by the throat, before Trenton even realized what was happening. "Tell me what happened," he grated, his eyes blazing into Trenton's.
The man recoiled in fear, and the vampire felt that fear, and smiled. His fangs showed clearly in the candlelight. "Tell me. And then, after you are done, I will tell you the punishment you deserve. It might even be what you dread." His smile grew, and the long canine teeth made it seem even more sinister. He let go of the human's shirt front, and returned to his seat at a speed his eyes could follow.
Trenton swallowed, and wanted to massage his throat, but knew that any show of weakness now would only make his situation even more precarious. He knew Cameron was still highly unhappy by the gleam of his eyes in the dark room. He stood "at ease," as Army recruits soon learned, and continued his report.
"Sir, as I reported to you earlier," he began, "the new vampire would visit a particular bar on her evenings off. I presumed that she was staking out people to hunt when she did, in fact, hunt people, and did not follow her in. Evidently, while she was there, she met another woman, and struck up an acquaintance with her. I saw her walk home with Roxanna last night, just before dawn. The woman is without question a Lesbian, because she kissed Roxanna before she left. This morning, before I forgot her features, I tried to find a match in the newspaper files. Her name is Janis Roberts, and she is a newspaper reporter.
"Tonight, Roxanna evidently felt the craving for human blood. She left for the bar quite early, just after the sun had completely set. I followed her there, and waited. This Janis must have been her intended prey, but was not in the bar, because soon after she entered, she returned to the street, and started to search for another. As usual, I followed at a discrete distance, and saw her begin stalking a derelict. I don't know if she was consciously controlling him or not, but after following him a few minutes, they both turned into a blind alley. If she was controlling his mind, she lost it at that point, because he began to struggle, and she was forced to subdue him before feeding.
"At this point, I heard a scream. Roxanna could hardly have failed to hear it as well; it filled the alley. Suddenly, there was a flash, and I turned toward it. I could dimly make out the reporter in the light. She was clutching her camera, and obviously didn't realize she had taken a picture with it. She was still screaming. Roxanna had stepped out into a shaft of light, and was obviously a vampire. Her eyes were glowing and there was blood upon her fangs. The reporter ran back down the alley, and I followed her this time, and attempted to get her camera away from her. She sprayed me with mace or something, and blinded me. I was forced to run away before getting caught by the police. Since then, I have been unable to find either her or Roxanna." As he finished, he bowed his head and studied the floor by the faint candlelight.
While listening to his account of the evening, Cameron leaned back into the depths of his chair, and steepled his fingers before him. "I see," he said stonily when Trenton ended his report. "You have had a very unsuccessful evening, haven't you, Trenton?"
Trenton winced as Cameron called him that. The Old Man very seldom used a lackey's first name, unless he was very displeased. He knew he was in deep trouble. He was going to have to prepare himself for what was in store.
"Now. What are we going to do about it?" Cameron continued, his voice becoming smoother and more honeyed. "Why, I don't see that there's anything we can do about it." Suddenly, he was shouting again, leaning forward in his chair, one fist pounding on the desk. "You've just endangered the existence of every single vampire we know of! What can we do to alleviate that?" His eyes were still incandescent rubies in his face.
Scared out of his wits, Trenton still managed to think fast. "You have to get to Janis Roberts. You have to force her to give you her film, all copies of the picture and the negatives. Then, you either have to kill her, or otherwise make sure that she never leaks this story."
Cameron sat back in his chair again, eyes fixed upon the human in the center of the room. Slowly, he smiled, and his eyes returned to their natural color. "Very good, Trenton." He spoke deliberately, thinking over every word and weighing its effect on the human. He saw the human wince at the use of his first name again, and suppressed a smile. "Very good indeed. An idea full of merit. Now, tell me: why haven't you already done this?" His voice was like the flick of a lash.
"Because, sir," he stammered. "I thought you would want to take care of it personally. You are much more persuasive than I am. And you have . . . other threats you can use, besides the merely physical that I have. She might recognize me . . . ." He stopped and swallowed loudly, wondering if he had just sealed his fate.
"I see," the vampire said again, folding his hands. Again, he chose his words carefully, for the best effect. "You are avoiding this because you are afraid. You are more afraid of what might happen to you in the human jails than what I might do to you." He made a tsk-tsk sound. "That is so very, very disturbing, Trenton, dear boy. Your other reasons might have been valid, but that last one . . . for shame." He stood behind the desk, his chair scraping on the floor. Trenton took an unconscious step back, and Cameron smiled.
Before Trenton understood that it was time and past for him to run, it was too late. Cameron had him, was holding him in his arms in a grotesque parody of a loving embrace. "I'm sorry!" burst from his throat before he could summon the will to stop it.
"The time for that is long gone, Trenton McDonnel," Cameron whispered into his ear. "Your human life is over. I know of someone who has been waiting and waiting for you. She'll be very glad to see you . . . ." At that moment, Cameron bent as if to rip open his neck. Trenton fought for a moment, but the horror that Cameron's words had woken in him overpowered his will, and he fainted.
Cameron dropped him to the floor, and buzzed his secretary. Over the intercom, a crisp voice replied, "Yes, Mr. Sang?"
Still eyeing the unmoving form upon his elegant rug, Cameron said, "Dial up Miriah Pierce, if you please, and tell her that her dear friend Cameron requests her presence immediately. I have a gift for her, one that she's been waiting for ages to have." He clicked off, and chuckled dryly to himself.
Knowing that Trenton would be out for quite a few minutes, he paced around his body, pondering his dilemma. Well, I guess Trenton turned out to be right after all. I will have to confront this Roberts person. I think I can . . . persuade her not to publish her outrageous accusations. And then, I suppose I must find this pretty waif. She's surely gone to ground by now. She might have to hunt again tomorrow night, though. Perhaps I can find her then, or find someone who can pick up her trail. It will have to be a vampire, this time, one who wouldn't be caught by the authorities.
Now, what should I do with her? Should I put her to the Final Death? Or perhaps make a protegee out of her, and bind her loyalty to me. I'll know better when I see her face to face. And I will see her this time. I was far too lax in not having her brought to me earlier.
But, my dear prospective Childe, I must leave you for now, and ferret out your friend. She has the capacity to threaten all of us, and I must put a stop to that immediately.
He knew there were still a few hours left before dawn broke over the city. He would only have to wait a few more minutes for Miriah to appear, and then he could . . . persuade . . . the reporter woman that publishing her story wasn't in her best interests. And that would give him immense pleasure. For the first time in decades, he laughed. His fangs glistened in the candlelight.
Janis let herself into the offices of the Crixton Sun and Crixton Evening News legally. Her hands were shaking again. Her whole body was shaking. Everything happens at once, she thought, slumping behind her desk. I still can't believe what I saw. And an attempted mugging on top of that. She covered her face with her hands. Xanna, my dear, sweet Xanna . . . a vampire. She was real, and I kissed her and . . . It can't be. Vampires just don't exist. They are legends, horror stories.
But I've got a picture that may say otherwise. She pulled out her now empty camera, and a sheaf of photographs. She had just spent the last hour or two in the photo lab, developing these pictures, not trusting the regular crew. Besides, she thought, it's color film, and they're used to working with black and white. Flicking on her lamp, she spread them across her desk. She picked up an enlargement, one that showed Xanna perfectly in the moonlight. The blood was dark red against her pale face. The body had just dropped from her fingers. If I'd had my wits about me, Janis berated herself, I could have snapped a picture of him, too, with the puncture holes in his neck.
"But you were scared." A sympathetic voice spoke from the darkness, and Janis felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. There shouldn't be anyone else here! she thought, frantically. My God, it's almost 4 in the morning!
"Ah, but the undead can walk all night, and you would never even notice us." Before she could do more than think about moving her head to see where the voice was coming from, or who he was, she felt it held in an iron grip. "Oh, no, my dear," the voice said with a humorless laugh. "Not yet. You have something I want. I want it very badly, and I'm afraid that I'm not going to let you leave here until I get it."
"Who . . . who are you?" she whispered, unable to do more than roll her eyes. Oh, God, why does everything bad always happen to me? she thought despairingly.
"But ma chere! Things only happen to you if you go poking around where you don't have any business poking." She could hear the whisper of his breath against her ear. His voice was as intimate as a lover's. "And, you know very well that you had no business going into that alley. That's why this is happening. You know that, and I know that. But, if you give me those lovely photographs, I'll go away, and it will be as if we never had this conversation. That would be the most equitable arrangement, wouldn't you say?"
"No! I wouldn't say that!" she answered hotly. "I practically risked my life for those pictures, and I plan to run them, and my story, Goddamnit!"
"I could break your neck right here, you realize that, don't you, ma petite?" His voice became a little less sweet, and his grip on her head tightened even more. "And we don't want that, now do we? However would we explain a missing reporter for the Crixton Evening News?" Sarcasm dripped freely from his tone.
Janis was stunned as she comprehended exactly what he wanted. "How . . . how did you know about my picture? No one knows yet! Except for Xanna . . . and that's only because she was there."
"Ah, but I know. Now, let's stop arguing and just give me the pictures. I will go away then, and you can just forget this ever happened."
"Do you know Xanna? Did she tell you? Oh, Lord, Jesus God, are you a vampire too?" The speed of her heartbeat revved up sharply. She could hear it thudding in her ears.
"You are correct, cherie. Those pictures are damaging to all of my kind. Very damaging indeed, and I would like to keep them for you, so they are not leaked to the press. That could start a massive vampire hunt, and that would make me quite unhappy. And I do so dislike being hunted and unhappy. So, you will be a good little girl, and give me those pictures, won't you?" His tone of voice spoke as plainly as his words, saying that any further argument would make her unhappy as well.
But she was a reporter, and she had to push the limits. Even though she was scared stiff, she managed to say, "Well, if they do start hunting you, good! We shouldn't have to live in terror that we're going to have the blood sucked out of us one day by one of you . . . monsters!" If she was going to say anything else, it was choked off by his arm passing around her throat. She found it hard to breathe.
"You know, my dear, you are becoming very tiresome." She could now feel his words against her throat, and she was frozen by fear, as well as his grip. "Perhaps I should just fulfill your fear, and make you one of us. That way, you would have a very good reason for keeping quiet, because if you did not, you would be hunted and destroyed as well. And we wouldn't want that, now, would we?" His lips delicately kissed her neck, and his hold on her neck loosened fractionally.
"Would I see Xanna again?" The words coming out of her mouth surprised her.
He drew back slightly in astonishment. "Now, why would you care about that? Ah, yes," he answered his own question. "That's right. You were attracted to her, weren't you. Well, my dear, that would depend. Perhaps she wouldn't want to see you, not after what you have done. You have betrayed her." The voice was honey-smooth in her ear, and awakened guilt within her heart. "You took a picture of her at her most vulnerable moment, when she trusted that no one was watching. You ran from her. Why would she want to see you now?"
"But I care for her so!" Janis cried, unable to restrain herself. "She's so beautiful and vulnerable, and she's scared to open up to people. I couldn't help myself. I've never met anyone like her . . . before I knew she was a vampire. Even now, I don't really want to hurt her . . . but still . . . ." She sobbed in confusion.
"Then you will have to decide which is more important to you; your story, or your relationship with Roxanna. And you will have to do it now." His grip on her eased a little more, but he still would not allow her to turn around.
"Will . . . will you let me see her?"
"As I said, that would depend on what Roxanna wants. She might not want to see you. Give me the pictures, and I will take you with me and you may see her if she wishes. Do not, and I will guarantee that you will not enjoy your final moments." Menace underwrote his tone.
She thought about it for nearly a second. "You can have the pictures. Take me with you, make me a vampire, anything, just so I can see her again . . . and apologize."
Cameron smiled in the dark, behind her. This was how it should have gone in the beginning. "Very well," he whispered. He bent down and bit her neck very gently, not at all hard enough to draw blood, all the while massaging her head and getting a feel for her thoughts.
When he thought she was ready, he spun the chair around so she was facing him. He stared deeply into her eyes, and said, "You will now give me the pictures." Moving slowly, as if under the influence of hypnotism, she did so. "Is this all of them, even the negatives?" he asked, rifling through the folder. She nodded mutely. "Very good. Now. Listen to me, cherie, listen very closely. You will not remember my visit. You will not remember my saying I will turn you into one of us. You will completely forget me, my presence, the sound of my voice. What you will remember is that when you tried to develop your picture, it was completely exposed and ruined. Without your picture, you have no proof of what you saw, and probably no one would believe you anyway. That is what you will remember. Now, I will leave, and you will come back to yourself, feeling angry at that man who tackled you from behind and tried to mug you. He broke your camera, and exposed the film."
Again, she nodded, saying nothing. "Tres bien, ma petite," he whispered, sliding his fingers along her cheek. He turned her chair back around. In a flash of movement, he was gone.
Janis shook her head, feeling empty and bitter. Damn that man! I'm glad I pepper sprayed him. All that film was exposed, and unusable. And, without that picture, my editor would never believe me. She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. And I've wasted another night. And I feel so bad . . . Xanna is so beautiful . . . even though she's a vampire. I wonder if she would want to see me again? I miss her . . . . She laid her head down upon her desk and sobbed a little, until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
"Xanna . . . what an appealing little nickname," Cameron mused aloud, behind his desk once again. He was studying the pictures he had retrieved from that reporter woman. Her love for this little waif was strange and perhaps a little disturbing. It had been strong enough to be the key for his manipulation of her. How could anyone feel affection for a blood-sucking parasite? he wondered. Because that is what we are. We prey on society, and leave drained bodies in our wake much of the time, and, you, Roxanna, are no exception. And yet, even after this woman found out what you are, in the most violent way imaginable, she still cares for you. That is what is frightening, even to me, because I don't understand it.
I believe that I shall have to take more permanent measures against this Roberts woman. I can't take the chance that she'll try to find Roxanna, or try to print her story without her pictures. She's a lesbian. I believe that I can use that to my advantage. Perhaps a whisper in her ear that she should take more precautions, such as moving to another city or even another state. Or maybe I can arrange that she have a mental break down. That would work nicely.
But I must meet you, Childe. You inspired such love in this poor human woman, I must see your mettle, and test it. "But I'm afraid that you will have to forgo your little nickname, my dear. Roxanna suits you much better." He smiled, and stood, stretching. He left the photos on his desk, because no one would dare enter this room without his permission, and the only one who could possibly have done it could not anymore. He left his office by the door behind his desk, down the staircase to the basement of the building, where his car awaited. He climbed in, and rapped upon the window to his driver. On the ride, he thought, And now, my dear, all I have to do is find you, a rabbit run to ground. That shouldn't be too hard.
Rachael held the phone in a hand that trembled much more than it had a bare month ago. She was sick with worry, and had almost stopped eating completely. She was much thinner than was good for her, and her hair was dull and lifeless. She was very pale, and huddled into a thick sweater, as if the summer sun could do nothing for her, neither warm her, nor turn her skin a rosy pink.
"What do you mean, you've discovered nothing?" she asked, incredulous. "It's been over a month since she disappeared! How can you have found not one single thing to tell you where she's gone?" Her voice rose in pitch, until she was almost screaming into the receiver.
She listened impatiently to the voice on the other end, as it tried to explain the circumstances, how the hands of the police were tied in such cases, where the child vanished so completely. "And, ma'am, she's over 18. She may have just decided to leave. It is possible . . . ."
Rachael cut the police officer off in a fury. "I don't want to hear that. The next time I call, I want to hear that you've made some progress! I want to hear that you've found my daughter!" She slammed the receiver down onto its cradle, and hugged her shoulders. "How can they not have found anything?" she muttered. She forced herself to stop that train of thought, for if she didn't, she knew she'd end up crying again.
But it was already too late. Tears were streaming down her face. She grabbed a tissue. Instead of using it, however, she started shredding it in her hands.
Xanna, where are you? Please, come back.
Xanna woke again to something splashing her in the face, and groaning, rolled over. She could hear the rain outside the vault, and knew it would be a difficult to find her prey tonight. Even the rats will be somewhere safe and warm after all this rain, she thought tiredly.
And I've been living here over a week. I wonder, is it safe to go back to my apartment? I would think so. Maybe I can go back there tonight, at least to get some clothes.
I wonder if my mother would be home? Would she even want to see me? I should have called her. I should have called her at least once a week.
Well, why didn't you?
"Because I didn't want to deal with the recriminations. I didn't want to deal with the 'When are you coming home?'s. I want to come home, Ma, I really do, but I can't. My death won't let me. I'm sorry." She whispered the last to the stony vault.
Well, get up and go hunt something. There's bound to be some blood somewhere, and you have to have some tonight, because you haven't gone out for the past two days. This rain is just starving me. She sighed. And I guess I'm finally accepting what you've done to me, Mike. That doesn't mean I have to like it, but I am accepting it. I still don't really want to see you either, quite yet. Maybe some day.
She pulled on her damp, dirt stained clothes and picked up her duffle bag before going out into the pouring rain. She was going back to her apartment tonight, even if only to get some clean clothes. Perhaps she would stay there for the day, and dry out. If she didn't find anything tonight, she was going to have to hunt tomorrow. And that meant another drained human. She forced herself not to examine that thought too closely. It still hurt sometimes to think about it.
She paused at the door to her apartment building, and decided suddenly to not chance it this evening. She had the feeling that there was someone there waiting for her . . . . Paranoia, she told herself firmly, but walked on in the rain, ignoring the urge to glance over her shoulder.
A set of eyes the color and softness of sapphires watched her from the stairwell. Evidently my presence is too strong, Cameron thought. She can detect it even with her weak senses. I shall indeed have to find another one to do this. One who is not quite so old and powerful, but still more powerful than she. That shouldn't be too hard. I shall put out word among the Undead in Crixton that I would like to talk to them. A couple telephone calls should be sufficient. And then, whomever contacts me first, I shall tell them to look for Miss DeCourt, and bring her to me. She might trust them sooner than she would trust me. I shall do so at once.
"You are the last one I would have suspected of wanting to see me," Cameron said to the vampire in front of his desk, setting aside the newspaper. He was rather proud of the headline, having practically composed it himself. Star reporter suffers mental collapse; enters rest home. His tone was full of surprise.
"Well, you said in your message it was urgent that we get in touch with you, and as I have some rather important things to do this millennia, I decided not to waste my valuable time and wait until you called again. What is it that you want?"
"You are too impatient. It will get you into trouble some day." Cameron leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, studying the one before him. "But, to tell you the truth, you are the one I would have picked for this job. I need you to do something for me."
"Well, now, Cameron, old friend," sarcasm dripped freely from the vampire's words, "seeing as you have piqued my curiosity, you had best tell me what it is you want me to do."
"I would like you to bring a recalcitrant young vampire to see me. This one has been rather elusive, and I would like to speak with her."
"I see. And why am I the perfect one for this job?"
"Because she might trust you sooner than me. You don't look as old as you are, and you don't feel as old as I. She was able to sense my presence."
"That's not hard to do, seanduine," the vampire replied. "I can sense you sometimes from halfway across town."
"Stop trying to make light of this!" Cameron snapped. "I need to speak with her. She was caught in the act by a reporter. Don't worry," he continued as he saw the other vampire start. "I've taken care of the reporter, but I would like to speak with this Childe."
"All right. What's her name? I'll bring her to talk to you."
"Here's an address where you might want to start looking. Her name is Roxanna DeCourt." Cameron looked up from scribbling the address, and saw that the other vampire had whitened even to the very lips. "What is the matter, Mikhail? Are you not feeling well?"
"No, thank you for asking," Mikhail replied automatically. "I'm feeling just fine, Cameron. I'll bring her to see you as soon as I can."
On to Chapter 7.
Back to the Writing Page.
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