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BACK TO FRASER'S FRACTURED FICTION Mistress Estellaby A. Fraser
© Copyright 2000 A. Fraser. All rights reserved.
Ray was growing heartily sick of the sight of the summer fair. Even from the
parking lot, the view of the lights and attractions made him nauseous. His best
friend had been forcibly removed from this fair by a hostile vampire. He was,
however, feeling more charitable towards Estella. She had told him about what
had happened to Francis, after all. The fair could have left town, taking Estella
and Rigo far away, leaving the Brotherhood with the puzzle of what had
happened to the young vampire.
"Estella," he said as that thought crossed his mind.
She jumped. They were standing in the parking lot, looking for Francis' Harley.
"Yes?" She looked poised for flight.
"Did you see any of this happening, when you read my palm?"
"It doesn't work like that," she replied.
"There's the bike," Michael pointed. "I'll walk over with you to make sure it's
okay." He gave Estella a pointed look.
She correctly interpreted it to mean that Michael wanted to talk to Ray privately.
She nodded, and stayed by Michael's car.
"Well?" Ray asked.
"I just was wondering if you've thought of what's next."
Ray looked puzzled, as well he might. The plan had already been discussed.
"I use the Trump to contact Francis," he said. "We find out where he is, and go
get him."
"Just like that?" Michael wasn't being confrontational. His posture remained
relaxed. Only the lines around his eyes showed his own tension and worry.
"You plan to go charging to the rescue without knowing your opponent, the
situation, or the territory?"
"It's what Francis would do for me."
"Francis is a hothead immortal," Michael replied, still quietly.
"Time is ticking away, Michael. Who knows what Estella's crazy uncle is doing
to Francis?"
"I know." This time, Michael did give in to his impulse to offer comfort, and
squeezed Ray's shoulder. "But even if time is against us, rushing into the
unknown is never wise."
"So how do we turn the unknown into the known?"
Michael's eyes flickered to Estella.
"Will she help us against her uncle?"
"All we can do is ask."
Ray nodded. "She didn't have to call me," he said. "I think her heart's in the
right place."
"Under her rib cage, most likely," replied the healer. "For the time being, let's
keep the others out of it, though," he said, referring to the remainder of the
Brotherhood of Darkness.
"That would be a shock to Estella," Ray said, a rare smile appearing at the
thought. "She hates vampires, and she'd have to meet Alex, Gideon, and Josh all
at once."
"Francis is their friend, too," Michael answered. "They'll have to know about
this if we can't handle Rigo between us. We should get going."
"See you at my place," Ray nodded, and straddled the Harley.
"Do you have the keys?" Michael asked.
"Oh, please." The bike started without any visible effort on Ray's part.
"Show-off," Michael muttered. Over the roar of the Harley's engine, he was
certain Ray couldn't hear him, but the mage laughed at him.
Michael walked back to his car and the waiting Estella, looking thoughtful. He
hadn't spoken to Ray of his deepest misgiving that Ray would be unable to
contact Francis via the Trump.
"Are all your friends that tightly wound?" Estella asked when Michael rejoined
her.
"His best friend has been abducted by an inherited vampire," Michael replied.
"You'd be a little on edge, too."
"Are they just friends?" Estella asked, as delicately as possible.
"Yes, they are just friends. They are both straight. But Ray never had a good
friend before he met Francis, so he takes this pretty seriously."
"I see." Estella watched the scenery go by with feigned interest. She hadn't
ventured near the almost-mythical Cliff Road before, but she was too wrapped in
thought to much care. What she was picking up from Ray and, to a lesser
extent, Michael was worry about Francis, concern over what was happening to
him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Why did Francis make Ray come to see me?"
"Because Francis can be a little shit when he so desires."
She stared at him, mildly shocked at this response from him.
"I have teenagers," he reminded her. He was still carefully studying the road, but
he must have caught a glimpse of her reaction.
A driver had to study this road; she quickly realised. It wound up the side of a
dramatic cliff. There was no guard-rail. When they reached the top, she was
rewarded with what would have been a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean,
in daylight. It being now somewhere around midnight, all she saw was lights the
town, the automated lighthouse, the handful of houses up here.
"Don't your kids find this isolated?" she managed to ask.
"Do you know how much mileage is on this car?" he replied.
They had long since lost sight of the Harley, Michael not possessing Ray's lead
foot. But when they drew up at the small bungalow, the lights were all on.
Michael parked behind the Harley, and he and Estella got out and walked to the
door. He didn't knock, simply walked in. Only very good friends could do that.
Once again, Francis heard his cage door open. He blinked in the sudden light.
Rigo hauled him out, somewhat more gently than before.
This was growing tiresome. Francis scowled up at his captor and spat, "Now
what?"
"You must be hungry," said Rigo. He offered a wine bottle. The scent that rose
from it was not wine.
"That's human blood," Francis' voice was slurred because his fangs had
descended. Pavlov would have been proud.
"Of course it is! You are a vampire!" Rigo thrust the bottle into Francis'
unresisting hand. "Or are you one of those who only drinks from rats and other
vermin?"
"Pig's quite tasty, you know," Francis murmured, but he raised the bottle to his
lips. Ah, sweet human blood, how long had it been since he had last tasted it?
Last week, actually, said a tiny voice in a back corner of his mind.
"Why did you give me this?" he asked once he'd drained the bottle.
"You must eat, no?" Rigo draped his arm around Francis' shoulder. "And
perhaps now that you have fed, you will feel more like telling me the truth."
"What did you do, spike the blood with sodium pentathol?"
"Pah." Rigo's arm slid away, to Francis' relief. "Fewer of these japes at your
elders would serve you in better stead, boy."
"Japes?" Francis repeated incredulously. He had never heard anyone actually say
that word out loud.
"Can you not see that I wish to protect my niece?" Rigo asked, ignoring the
response to his previous statement.
"You have a strange idea of protection, Uncle Rigo," Francis told him.
"Dragging me out of her tent like that. What if we'd been seen? Your niece
would be answering some hard questions at police headquarters."
"I fear nothing from the human police."
"Maybe not, but Estella might."
"Pah. I took care that we were not seen." Rigo seized the empty wine bottle and
threw it against the far wall, where it shattered. A few last drops of blood
streaked down the wall. "I do not like having other vampires bother my niece."
Francis recalled the expression on Estella's face when she had seen her uncle
seize him. Maybe, just maybe, she'd been upset enough to contact Ray. If so,
Estella was going to be "bothered" by three vampires, a magic-user, a werewolf,
a part vampire/healer, three Druids, and whatever it was Evan was. He wisely
kept this thought to himself.
"So," Rigo continued, "I protect her. And she protects me."
"How?" Francis asked.
"Our blood is tied," Rigo said. "If I am destroyed, she will die."
"Some protection."
The Rom vampire bared his teeth. Perhaps it was meant as a smile. "It serves,"
he answered. "She takes great care that no slayer," the word dripped sarcasm,
"scents my trail."
Francis stared at him. There had been a sly, shifty look in Rigo's eyes, a little
half-smile that told Francis that the older vampire was lying."You old bastard!"
he shouted. "You just let her believe it so that nobody will kill you; there's no
such tie!"
Rigo's long, thick fingers wrapped themselves around Francis' neck, pressing on
the throat.
"Your friend from last night," he snarled, "the one who stank of magic, will he be
looking for you?"
Frightened beyond caution. Francis nodded.
"Then he had best act quickly, for you have just doomed yourself."
And, predictably, Francis was thrust back into the steel cage. The bars were
slammed across it with emphasis. He was left alone in the dark, wondering
whether or not to hope that Ray was trying to find him.
Estella couldn't help looking around Ray's house as the mage welcomed them in,
but there wasn't anything out of the ordinary to see. Unless Andrei, who
shrieked a greeting at her, counted.
"Can I get you a drink?" Ray offered them both, running a hand through his curly
brown hair. "I need to get down to my workshop."
"Workshop?" Estella thought that this was an odd time to be finishing up some
home renovation project. She hadn't envisioned Ray as a man with a skill saw.
"That's what I call it. I keep my more sensitive materials down there."
"Those Trumps?" Estella asked. She wanted to see those, they sounded
fascinating.
"Among other things," Ray nodded. "So, if there's anything I can get you before
I go..."
"No, thank you," Estella smiled at him.
"I'm fine," Michael assured him. "Good luck."
Ray nodded, and headed towards the back area of the house.
Michael and Estella waited, exchanging small talk but not really interested in it.
Finally, they heard footsteps coming from the back rooms. Andrei ruffled his
wings and launched himself from his perch, Estella to duck as he flew out of the
living room to find his master. A minute later, Ray appeared; the falcon on his
shoulder pecking at his earring. He looked tired. Without a word, Michael got
up, poured Ray a stiff serving of his own Scotch, and made him sit down.
Nobody spoke. Ray smiled tiredly at Michael and accepted the whiskey,
draining it in one gulp. When he set the cup down, he looked at Michael, then
Estella.
"I didn't have much luck," he said. "I managed a brief contact, but he couldn't
tell me where he was. I got a vague impression of something like a warehouse,
but that was all."
"I can find him," Estella said in the grim silence that followed this statement.
Something about Ray's voice and posture had moved her to offer. He looked so
sad.
Ray's head came up and his blue eyes nearly skewered her. "I thought you said
you didn't know where your uncle's hideouts were."
"I don't. I can't find Uncle Rigo. But I can find Francis." Aware that they were
all staring at her, she said defensively, "I didn't realise that you wouldn't be able to find him. I
thought you could, with your emotional ties and the power. I would have said something
sooner."
"It's all right," Michael said. "What do you need?"
"Clothing would be best, something he wears often."
"Not a problem." Ray got up, still moving like a man who needed a nap, and
disappeared towards the back rooms again. He returned quickly, carrying a black
t-shirt. "He's always leaving the damn things over here," he said. "He seems to
think I'm a laundry service."
Unwashed vampire, how nice, Estella thought. She ignored the scent, the grease
stains, the defunct rock band logo. Francis wore this shirt. It certainly didn't
look like something either Ray or Michael would wear.
Andrei flew over to watch her from the back of a chair, but nobody else moved
or spoke.
Estella took the shirt, feeling it with her fingers. "This isn't an exact science," she
warned. "I'm not going to get a street address."
"We understand," Michael assured her.
Of course they did. These were two people who understood how inexact the
power was.
She closed her eyes, concentrating on the shirt. The smell of motorcycle rose
around her. She ignored it, reaching beyond the feel of worn cotton, the scent of
second-hand Harley.
"It's dark," she said, although without any of the theatrical overtones a movie
psychic would give to the statement. "Dark and confined." She winced, as if
feeling pain. "He's been kicked, hit knocked to the ground. I can feel my uncle's
anger." She shivered, but kept her eyes closed, kept her hold on the shirt, kept
the link to Francis. "There is steel all around him; the cage from the van is his
prison. But they are not moving; the cage is in a big warehouse. South, and west.
Away from the ocean. There is water nearby, but no smell of salt or sound of
breakers... a river? It feels like a larger town; industrial. Perhaps three hours
drive; the van drove quickly." She opened her eyes. "There is nothing more. He
saw nothing of the town, did not know which direction they drove."
"There's only one place like that within a three hour's drive that's not near the
ocean," Ray spoke up for the first time since introducing himself. "Bangor."
"We're so short of time," Estella said, "I fear that if we do not find Francis
before dawn that Uncle Rigo will kill him. In three hours, it will be nearly
dawn."
"It won't take us three hours to drive to Bangor," Ray said flatly. "We need Evan
and the limo."
"I'm on it," Michael replied, ignoring Estella's confused look and reaching for
the phone.
"Who's Evan?" Estella asked Ray. "What limo can reach Bangor in less than
three hours?"
"Don't worry about it," Ray answered. "It's magic."
"There's a lot of that going around," Michael nodded. He turned to the phone.
"Good evening, Gideon. I'm fine, thank you. Listen, I hate to sound impolite,
but I need to borrow a couple of things. Your limo, and your chauffeur. It's an
emergency, and I promise I'll explain later. Ah, thank you, you're a good friend.
I'm at Ray Griffin's, send them on down." He hung up, and turned to Ray and
Estella. "Evan will be bringing the limo down in a minute."
"Michael, are you coming along?" Ray asked, rising to his feet. Andrei flew to
his shoulder.
"Of course. You may need an older and wiser friend along."
In a very short time, they heard a car horn honk from the road outside. The four
of them, including Andrei, went out to find a gleaming black Cadillac limousine
waiting for them, with a burly, auburn-haired man at the wheel. He jumped out
when he saw Estella and introduced himself as Evan Jones.
She could read nothing from him, nothing from his handshake. That worried her,
but there was no time for questions. The enigmatic Evan was urging them to get
into the limo.
"What about your car?" Estella asked Michael.
"It will be fine here," he replied. "I'll pick it up on the way home."
They climbed into the black Cadillac, Evan sliding with ease behind the wheel.
"Fasten your seatbelts," he warned.
"It's going to be a bumpy ride?" Estella couldn't resist coming back.
He looked scandalised. "In a Caddy?"
They started rolling down the Cliff Road. When they reached the main road
heading out of Fletcherville, Evan punched some buttons on what looked like a
computer attached to the dashboard. The scenery went blurry.
"What's going on?" Estella gasped.
"Welcome to the Imaginos Freeway," Michael replied. (TM; used by permission
of the copyright holder)
Dark. Cold steel all around. Cramped, confined, beginning to believe there
would be no rescue. Knowing that Rigo, his captor, was a crafty old bastard
who was toying with him. Francis had felt the cold magic of the mysterious
Trumps that Ray used to contact his friends; the only bit of magic from his
sojourn in a strange other world that Ray had kept. But although a contact of a
sort was established through the bite of the magic card, Francis hadn't been able
to help his friend very much. Dark and cold steel were all he knew.
Francis cut the contact short, afraid that Rigo could somehow detect the use of
magic. He had said, tonight, that Ray had stunk of magic. He had not mentioned
that before, that he could detect the power. Rigo was obviously not your average
vampire.
Ray couldn't rescue him. Francis hadn't been able to name his location; he didn't
know which way the van had driven or whether or not they were still on the
coast. He was doomed. Rigo was going to kill him, because he knew Rigo's
secret. And he was missing a broadcast Stones concert.
That really hurt.
The blur outside the windows of the black Cadillac limousine gradually became
real scenery again. A city; taller buildings than in Fletcherville, wide streets,
traffic. Bangor, the second largest city in Maine.
"It's a bit rough, your first time on the Freeway," said Michael sympathetically,
noticing that Estella was faintly green. "It passes."
"Don't throw up in the car," Evan growled.
Estella took a deep breath, offended at the suggestion. Then she saw that Ray
Griffin was looking at her intently. More correctly, he was looking at the black
garment she still held in her hands. He said nothing, but his eyes begged her to
focus on the task at hand.
That steadied her. Her family was never going to believe this. She was in a car
powered by magical sigils that enabled it to drive through time and space, she
was with two powerful magic-users and a a and Evan, and she was trying to
rescue a punk kid vampire from her Uncle Rigo. Her family would be furious.
Rigo was to be protected, not exposed.
Too damn bad.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on what she could read from the shirt and
its link to Francis.
"West," she said finally, her palms prickling as they touched the shirt. "It's an
industrial area; no houses, not many cars. It's on a river, I can hear it and smell
it."
"Right." His jaw set, Evan sought for a street headed in the right direction. Even
though the Caddy had materialised from nowhere onto a road in Bangor, nobody
seemed to notice. It was nearly one in the morning, which helped, but the use of
the Freeway came with a sort of cloaking device that made the entrances and
exits of the vehicles using it go unobserved.
The streets of Bangor went past. The occasional light; the empty waiting stores;
the all-night garage where the attendant dozed behind the desk. Slowly the
houses became sparser, farther apart, and the industrial area lay before them.
Several warehouses, most of them on the Penobscot River, lay before them.
"I can't tell," Estella said helplessly, holding the shirt in nerveless hands. "He's
somewhere close by, but these places all look the same."
Ray stirred. From his jeans pocket, he removed a small box. It was covered in
frost. Although the Caddy had air conditioning, it was not turned on that high.
"Francis closed the last contact," he said, opening the box and offering a
tantalising glimpse of the hand-drawn cards inside. Estella caught quick
impressions of various members of the Brotherhood before Ray removed a card
with Francis' portrait on it and shut the box again. "I think he's afraid that Rigo
can detect magic." Ray looked at Estella.
She sighed. "My uncle is sensitive to magic," she said. "He can feel the
vibrations it makes. He says he can smell it on someone."
"Now you tell us." That was Evan.
Ray's cold blue eyes did not release Estella from their steady gaze. "Tell us
about Rigo," he commanded. "Why does he abduct vampires?"
"I think he's actually afraid of other vampires," Estella answered. "I don't really
know Rigo that well. I just know that when my Aunt Danube died, I inherited her
lace shawl and Uncle Rigo. Danube had the Sight, and Rigo used her for his
protection. I was told that is how things have always been in the family, since
Rigo became wampyre. He showed up at my parents' house and I was forced to
learn to deal with him. Usually he isn't a problem. He looks after his own
business and leaves me to mine; but he always follows me and prevents other
vampires from speaking to me or questioning him too closely about our family
ties. He does not share the secret of this tie, of how he insured that we could not
betray him because we would die as well; and he makes certain that other
vampires do not learn of this secret."
"And he never drinks your blood, or makes sexual advances on you?" Ray asked.
"No. I told you, we take family very seriously. If he raped me, either way, the
family would kill him, consequences or no. But one look at Uncle Rigo; and any
potential lover for me has vanished. I don't blame them."
Ray, who hadn't had very many potential lovers himself, though not because he
had an uncle who was a vampire, almost looked sympathetic.
Michael noticed the increasing chemistry and empathy between Ray and Estella,
but wisely kept these observations to himself. Evan was paying attention only to
the streets, alert for trouble.
"It will be a warehouse large enough to drive the van into completely," Estella
said, aware that they were waiting for her to explain more about her uncle. "Rigo
is not careless. He wishes no confrontations with police, because questions
would lead back to me. It will have to be an empty facility; one with no night
watchman or alarm system."
"When you first read the shirt," Ray said, "you said that you could feel Francis
had been hit and kicked."
"Yes," Estella nodded sadly. "Uncle Rigo is no gentleman."
"Then they would have to be someplace where sound wouldn't carry, too. We're
looking for a relatively isolated warehouse."
Evan made a gesture at the maze of places before them. But he said nothing,
merely drove the limo around in wide sweeps of the area, hoping to pick up the
trail.
Ray tapped the card in his hand. "I don't know if I dare use this or not," he
sighed. "I may endanger Francis by contacting him; but he is endangered if I do
not." He glared at the back of Evan's head. "No comments from the driver,
please."
"Did I say a word?" Evan asked in mild protest.
"Can we link up?" Estella asked, a brave suggestion.
"What do you have in mind?" Ray asked.
"Touch the card to the shirt," she said, "let's see what happens."
Ray looked at the card in his hands, then at Estella. He'd never tried doing this
sort of thing before; but then, he reminded himself, neither had she. Their hands
brushed as he lowered the Trump to the shirt, and she smiled at him. He found
himself smiling back.
Frost crackled along the shirt, up both their hands, and their minds touched each
other as well.
She saw into Ray's mind, saw the blaze of pain and unhappy memories, saw the
gentle heart hidden behind the wall of cynicism to protect it against further hurt.
He was not, as she had already seen in his palm, an evil man. She saw genuine
love for his friends, and a deep concern for Francis that made her want to save
the young vampire, too.
Ray saw Estella's mind opened to him with equal clarity; saw her deep
loneliness, her fear that her uncle would drive away any chance she had of
finding love. Her mannerisms were calculated to keep her from being too badly
hurt by the life she'd been forced to lead.
Estella gasped and dropped the shirt, breaking the contact. Something of the link
remained, though, a new-found mutual sympathy that made them both regret
earlier harsh words.
"I wasn't expecting that," she said, shaken.
"Me, either."
"Are you both okay?" Michael asked, healing instincts aroused.
They nodded. Estella picked up the shirt again, and looked at Ray.
"I'm prepared this time," she said. "Let's try it again."
Bracing himself mentally, Ray touched the Trump to the shirt, willing the contact
to work. Estella's mind opened to his, a touch more intimate than any physical
one. He wasn't used to somebody else seeing his mind, either. And there was a
distinct taste of Francis in here, too; the shirt and the Trump both made the young
vampire a presence in the limo.
Estella ignored the distractions offered by having her mind linked with Ray's,
although the electric pulses of power made her almost giddy. She concentrated
on the scent of Francis, the feel of his presence, the pull of the shirt and the card
to him.
"Turn left here," she said in a voice that could not be disobeyed.
Evan turned left.
"Now right.. There is a little side road beside the warehouse. Turn down it."
The car obeyed.
"This next warehouse. This is the place."
It looked like all the others; except that there were no lights on at all, not even
over the doors. No sign of life at all, unless the overgrown bushes counted. A
faded "for sale or lease" sign was half-hidden by a bush. The smell of the river
overpowered any other scents.
"How did Rigo ever find this place?" Michael wondered as they emerged from
the car. Andrei launched from Ray's shoulder, flying in circles above the
warehouse.
"He checks the real estate listings online," Estella replied.
"Ah, of course. The internet; the vampire's new best friend." `
"Uncle Rigo's pretty techno-savvy," Evan remarked.
"You think perhaps that because we are Rom, we still travel in caravans and steal
horses?" Estella snapped at him.
"Easy," Evan laughed. "I know a vampire about Rigo's age who wouldn't know
the internet from a fishing net. Some of the undead find it hard to keep up with
the times, no matter their origins."
She blushed. "Sorry. Uncle Rigo enjoys technology. He loves television,
especially American television. He adores Joss Whedon."
"Your uncle watches Buffy?"
She nodded, looking slightly embarrassed, but her three companions seemed to
find it amusing. It distracted them from the fact that they were still outside the
warehouse, facing the unknown. A friend of theirs was being held prisoner
(hostage?) inside this warehouse. His captor was a strong, wily vampire who
could smell magic. On their side, they had an Archdruid, a mage, a skilled
warrior, and a psychic. Evan had brought his usual selection of assorted
weapons. Ray had his knife and Andrei. Michael and Estella were both
unarmed.
Both refused to allow Evan to give them a weapon of any kind. Michael didn't
use steel. Estella knew how to fire a gun, but could not bring herself to bear a
weapon against her uncle.
"You really do take family seriously," said Ray. He felt a bit envious, even in
this ludicrous situation.
"Oh, yes," she nodded. "And remember, if Uncle Rigo dies, so do I."
"We remember," Evan assured her, but notched the string on his crossbow
anyway.
"Does Andrei see a way in?" Michael asked Ray.
The mage looked up for his falcon. Seeing through Andrei's eyes, which he
could do because of the link between them, always gave Ray vertigo. At his
command, Andrei searched for an open window or an unlocked door.
"He doesn't see anything," Ray reported finally, "but he does have trouble telling
if a door's locked or not. Rigo must have found a way in. Locks don't mean
anything to me."
"We must hesitate to use magic," Michael warned him. "Remember what we
know of Uncle Rigo."
Estella nodded, looking scared. "He will smell it, if you use it."
"I showered and everything this morning," Ray said.
"Locks don't mean anything to me, either," Evan growled. "And I don't use
magic. Let's find a door."
Ray whistled for Andrei, who came down and landed on Estella's shoulder. She
tried not to flinch from his close proximity, or sag under his unexpected weight.
The falcon gave her earring a friendly nibble and shrieked his disconcerting
laugh.
"He likes you," said Ray.
"I'm honoured," Estella responded, secretly hoping that the falcon didn't crap
down her blouse. His claws pricked through the material, so it was probably
ruined anyway. Ray must have all his clothes reinforced with leather patches
under the shoulders, she thought. Amazingly, though, the grip of Andrei's talons
didn't break her skin or draw blood.
Evan led the way to the nearest door. Just in case, he tried it. It was locked.
"At least there's not a deep pond with a ravenous beastie in it, ready to pounce on
us should we fail to enter," Ray quipped.
Michael shot him a sour look. The Archdruid had once, at a CotN party, found
himself the ipso facto leader of a group of hobbits who had mistaken him for a
wizard. He hadn't been able to read Lord of the Rings since, let alone see the
movies.
"If there is a deep mine inside this door," Michael said, quite seriously, "you are
the first volunteer to face any Balrogs."
"Duly noted."
Evan produced a set of lock picks and fiddled with the door. A minute later, he
pushed it open.
"You don't need Gandalf," he said with a grin, "when you have Raffles."
"I absolutely refuse to be Bunny." Ray told him.
Evan went in first, with a flashlight he'd produced from whatever mysterious
place he kept his weaponry. A vast, echoing space swallowed the thin beam.
Whoever had owned this warehouse hadn't cleaned up too well; bits of
machinery, packing boxes, coils of wire and a thick layer of dust covered the
floor.
"No footprints in the dust," Evan observed, shining the light downwards. "Even
a vampire leaves footprints. Uncle Rigo doesn't use this part of the warehouse."
"This place must be about a block in size," Estella said, looking at the huge
space.
"Let's see if we can find the original office," Michael suggested.
They stayed close together; all of them had seen too many horror movies where
the search team that split up was picked off one by one. Besides, Evan had the
only flashlight.
At first it looked like just one more forgotten piece of inventory left by the
careless owners. Michael walked right past it, but he had no feel for cold steel.
Ray and Estella both paused, their powers still linked through the now limp
t-shirt that Estella held, sensing that here was their goal. Their hands sought each
other, almost without either of them realizing. It felt natural. Evan realized that
two of the party had stopped at what appeared to be a steel safe. He'd been
looking at the prints on the floor. Someone had been dragged here, and the
person doing the dragging was big.
The steel box was about the right size to fit in the back of a large panel van.
Two solid steel bars had been locked in place over the door.
"There are no airholes," Estella said, then blushed because she realized why not.
She noticed she was holding Ray's hand, but didn't release it.
"Francis is in there," said Ray. He did not sound happy. He didn't let go, either.
It felt good to have someone there.
Andrei shrieked a warning just as tall, well-muscled vampire came around the
corner from the other side of the steel box. He crossed his arms and stared down
at the rescue party. Only Evan came even close to Rigo's height; Michael looked
like a dwarf.
"So," said the Rom vampire, looking at Estella, "this is how you honour your
family, Estella. You bring strangers here; two of them stinking of magic."
"This has to stop, Uncle Rigo," Estella told him. Her words were defiant, but her
lips were trembling. Only then did she step away from Ray.
"What has to stop, traitor?"
"You must let Francis go, Uncle. No more kidnapping vampires that just happen
to meet me. No more bullying."
"I have to protect you."
"Is this your idea of protection?" Ray stepped forward. "My friend is in that box.
How is that protecting Estella?"
"I do not parlay with witches. Begone!" Rigo turned his back on Ray, only to
find Michael looking up steadily at him. "Pah, another one!"
"Actually, I'm not a witch," Michael said equitably. "I'm a Druid. Ray's not a
witch either; are you?" He looked at Ray.
"I don't know what to call myself," Ray answered, as if this was a perfectly
normal conversation. "I generally prefer 'mage' because it's neutral."
"I hate the smell of magic!" Rigo backed away from the supposed stink of a mage
and a Druid. He found himself backing almost into Evan, crossbow and all.
"I think that's far enough," said Evan, finger on the trigger. "Don't you?"
Rigo studied him. "You," he finally said, heavy-voiced. "You are one of those I
have heard of, the so-called protectors. You must understand why I wish to
protect my niece."
"If I thought you were actually protecting her by your actions, I would
understand," Evan replied. His finger did not relax; he was too aware of the
close proximity of a large, potentially dangerous vampire. "But I fail to see how
holding Francis in that box is protecting Estella."
"He was bothering her!" Rigo shouted. "He came to ask her questions! He
wanted to know why she hates vampires! She might have betrayed me! As you
can see, she is quite capable of doing so." He glowered at his "niece".
"So you weren't protecting her," Michael said. "You were ultimately protecting
yourself."
"Shame on you, Uncle Rigo," Estella told him. "For shame. Is this how you
repay the family trust, the protection we have given you all these years?" She
gestured at the box. "Francis is no threat to me. Let him out! You are already
revealed to these people, but they will not betray you."
"How can you be so certain?" Rigo made no move towards the box.
"You would already have embraced the true death should we mean you harm,"
Evan said, and his voice was as cold and solid as the steel cage that held Francis.
"Now open that damn box and let Francis out."
Rigo looked for some sign of support, but even Estella was glowering at him.
And Evan's stance and tone were convincing. Who knew what the two witches
were planning, and that damn falcon kept swooping at him. Outnumbered, he
shrugged and moved towards the box. His steps put him within reach of Estella.
As if guessing Rigo's half-formed intention, Ray Griffin stepped smoothly in front
of Estella. Rigo stopped, held in place by the force of Ray's will.
"Open the door," Ray said calmly. "Or I will." He barely glanced at the cage,
but the steel bolts slid out of their holders and clattered to the floor.
Damn that stinking witch! Rigo snarled, but found he could move now. He
wrenched open the cage door. A pale, angelic face, framed with dirty platinum
hair, blinked out at them in the sudden light.
"Hullo," said Francis, falling out of his prison, "is it tea time already?"
A war council was held in the office of the warehouse. Francis, wrapped in
Evan's jacket, kept fending off Michael, who wanted to examine his various
bruises and hurts. Rigo was being firmly kept in a corner by Evan. Ray and
Estella, still psychically linked though not as strongly, were looking at each other
awkwardly. Their hand-holding had made them realize their mutual attraction,
and neither knew what to do about it. Andrei sat on the top of a dusty filing
cabinet, devouring a mouse he'd managed to find.
"I still don't believe you lied, Uncle Rigo," Estella said, breaking off wondering
what to say to Ray in order to berate her uncle. "The family still would have
protected you! How could you not believe that of us?"
"I am a vampire," he replied. "I had to have insurance."
"Wait til I tell Mother."
Somehow, Rigo managed to go paler than he already was. Ray found himself
wondering about Estella's family. Especially her mother.
"She will kill me, Estella!"
"Serve you right."
"Please. Have I not been a good uncle to you, other than that little lie? Have I
not served well as your protector?"
"No more lies, Uncle Rigo. No more kidnapping of anybody, human, witch,
vampire, whatever. No more stalking me and following me everywhere."
"I swear, by the family honour."
A mouse foot dropped down the back of Rigo's shirt. He didn't even squirm.
Andrei laughed.
Estella looked her uncle in the eyes. He met her look. "I swear," he repeated.
"Very well; but if I hear of any misbehaviour, even one step towards me when I
don't want you there; I go straight to Mother."
Vampires don't sweat, but Rigo's forehead looked like it should have been shiny.
"No more kidnappings," he promised. "No more following you. No more lies."
She looked at Ray and Michael, wondering if they could detect honesty. They
both nodded. Rigo was telling the truth.
"Apologise to Francis," she said.
"It's okay, really," Francis insisted, not wanting Rigo anywhere near him.
A futile protest, since Rigo seized him, lifted him up, and kissed him on both
cheeks. "You will be as a son to me!" he declared.
"Oh, boy," said Francis.
"We really need to get going," Evan checked his watch. "Even the Caddy can't
beat the dawn. Rigo, all promises aside, my people will be keeping an eye on
you. One misstep and Estella's mother won't have anything to chew out. Catch
my drift?"
The big vampire nodded. "Five by five," he replied.
Evan rolled his eyes. "Let's get going," he said. He put an arm under Francis's
shoulders to help the young vampire out.
Michael followed, frowning at the fact that Francis didn't protest against this
help.
"Be good, Uncle Rigo," Estella warned.
"You be good, too," he told her. He looked at Ray. "You treat her properly,
magic man, or promise or no, I take you apart at the seams. Hey?"
"What are you talking about?" Ray and Estella chorused, then looked at each
other again.
"I see the way you look at each other! I see you holding hands!" He could detect
the mental link between them, too, but he didn't mention that.
"She isn't... I'm not... we're not..."
"You like each other, no?"
"We just met, Uncle Rigo!" Estella protested.
"So? You like him. He likes you. I see it in your eyes."
Andrei laughed.
"Oh, shut up," Ray told his falcon.
"Kiss her, magic man," Rigo ordered. "Kiss her, and you will see that you like
each other."
"Ummm..." Ray looked at Estella.
"We'd better do what he says," Estella said, smiling, suddenly shy. "He _is_ my
uncle, after all."
Feeling stupid, Ray took her hands in his. She didn't flinch. "You really want to
try this?" he asked.
"Very much," she replied, not looking at her uncle.
Ray sighed. Kissing a woman wasn't something he was too accomplished at
doing in the first place, let alone with an audience of a half-hostile vampire and
Andrei. His arms hung at a stiff, awkward angle as he closed in on Estella and
offered her a chaste kiss.
But then her arms went around him, and he held her more naturally, and the kiss
deepened into something interesting that held a promise.
The office door banged open and Evan stormed in, furious with the delay. "Are
you two coming, or... oh."
Laughing, Ray and Estella broke apart.
"Sorry," Ray said. "We're ready to go now."
"Uncle Rigo made us do it," Estella grinned.
Evan looked at Rigo, who nodded. "They like each other," the Rom vampire
grunted. "What can I do? Young people these days."
"All right," Evan sighed, "but we have to get moving if we're going to get back to
Fletcherville before dawn. Let's go."
They trailed the protector out to the limo, once again holding hands.
"Do you have any more little family secrets like Rigo that I should know about?"
Ray asked as he held the door open for Estella to climb in next to Francis.
"Just wait," she replied, settling herself on the seat, "til you meet Mother."
The End
or possibly
The Beginning
I would like to thank all the people who commented on this story, both during its creation
stages and while it was being posted on Vampyres and Nightstalkers. Thanks to Pandora for
the loan of her characters. And thanks, as always, to the long-lost Imaginos for the continued
loan of the freeway.
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