Night Lost

She shook her head. "I fear that you will be made the victim of your feelings for Alexandra."

Michael fought back a surge of anger. "The separation will soon be ended."

"The strain of being apart from Alexandra is affecting your ability to make rational decisions now. You are becoming more and more reckless. Such as your decision to bring Leary with us." She halted in front of a mattress and bedding shop that promised, no more back pain or your money back! on the advertisement posters plastered in the windows. "There is something very wrong with this man. Have you not heard him muttering to himself?"

"I have heard him muttering." It was all the man seemed to do. "His prayers appear to comfort him."

"He is not praying," Cella said sharply. "He whispers filth under his breath. He is obsessed with some woman, and plans to do great harm to her. What if he means to harm your sygkenis?"

"I have taken away his fear of the Kyn," Michael said. "He has no reason to hurt Alexandra, but if he tries, Phillipe will be there to protect her."

"I hope you are correct." She flagged down a taxi. "I will be waiting in the village. God be with you, seigneur."

Cyprien kissed her cheeks and helped her into the cab, standing and watching as the taxi headed out toward the northbound beltway. His temper had become quicker to flare since leaving the States, but they were all on edge.

A hand touched his arm. "Master."

"Take Leary to gather his quota," Michael told Phillipe. "As soon as he collects them, we leave for Dundellan."

Chapter 14

The captain of Tremayne's guard, Korvel, had just finished cleaning the wounds on John's neck when Alexandra and another guard came into the castle infirmary. Or, rather, John's sister strode in with the guard chasing after her.

"Doctor, you are not permitted in this part of the castle," the guard said in a strange, pleading tone. "If you would—"

Alexandra turned and punched the man in the face, knocking him across the room. He hit the floor and sat there rubbing his jaw and looking more like a crushed schoolboy than a wounded man.

"Hey, John," his sister said as she came to him. "Korvel, take Stefan and get out of here."

John knew that tone. "I'm all right, Alex. She didn't take enough to hurt me. It just left me with a headache."

"I'm the goddamn doctor; I'll decide what condition you're in." She pulled up the edge of the taped dressing. "That bitch. Another centimeter over and she'd have punctured your carotid." She eyed the captain. "Do I have to belt you, too?"

"You lied to me," Korvel said with matching chilly courtesy. "You broke out of your chamber and intruded on Lady Elizabeth's privacy."

"Oh, yeah?" Alex's expression darkened. "Lady Elizabeth was feeding on my brother. In front of me. I'm not thinking privacy's a big priority in her life."

The captain's brows lowered. "I will not trust you out of my sight again."

"Like you did before. Did you irrigate these wounds with antiseptic?" When Korvel nodded, she taped the dressing back into place and spoke to John. "I didn't know it was you under the mask at first."

"That guard over there"—John nodded at Stefan, who was finally getting to his feet—"he did something that made me unable to move."

"Stefan's talent is to paralyze humans," Korvel said.

Alexandra took out a penlight and checked his eyes. "When did the headache start?"

"I don't know. That woman—Elizabeth—hypnotized me to make me frightened, I think. It gave me some kind of vertigo, too. I was afraid that I'd throw up with the gag on." John squinted. "The light's not helping, Alex."

"Nauseated, photosensitive, and generally disoriented. Headache bad?" When he nodded, she glared at Korvel before adding, "I wouldn't have let her do that to you."

"You live on blood, don't you?" he couldn't help asking. "If it comes from me or another human, what difference does it make?"

"She didn't need your blood. She was doing it to mess with my head. I don't bite people, either." She pressed her hand to his cheek for a moment. "You're still my brother, John. Jesus."

"Doctor, you must leave here now," Korvel demanded, "before the high lord discovers your presence."

Alexandra gave John an expected hug, and murmured, "They've got you on candid camera, bro." When she straightened, she nodded toward the mirror across from his bed.

"Wait." John rose and took his sister's hand. "Have they been treating you well?"

"Not counting the threats and scaring me, yeah, they have." She stared up at him. "The castle isn't so bad. It's just like the mansion in my favorite Nancy Drew book."

The Hidden Staircase. John remembered the novel because Alex had demanded he read it to her over and over. In the story, the girl detective investigated a mansion haunted not by ghosts, but by a fugitive using secret passageways to try to scare off the elderly owner. Alex had spent months tapping the Kellers' walls in hopes of finding a secret passage. "Is it."

"We will go now." Korvel took her by the arm and escorted her out, locking the door behind him.

Orson Leary watched the scarred-face man, Phillipe, as he drove the van from the pub into the city. Now that he was back in Ireland, he felt happier than ever. His savior had destroyed all the old fears, and now he could attend to the women properly.

He felt impatient with his escort, however. The man plodded along as if he and Orson had all the time in the world. "Do we go to see the high lord? His castle is in the country."

"We will collect the humans first," Phillipe said. "Where do you take them?"

"A special place," Leary said, feeling more cheerful. Once he collected his quota, they would go to the demon king, and he would be able to complete the work. "Turn left there."

Leary directed Phillipe to Meath Street, and from there to a darkened laneway where cars cruised slowly.

All along the street, clusters of two and three young men moved from the shadows of the shops and business to make quick exchanges with the drivers of the cars. Other thin and hungry-looking youths wove their way down the walks, going from cluster to cluster. As people came together on the street, they spoke briefly and traded small twists of cellophane and tinfoil for rolls of money.

Leary had once despised coming here—frightened of the disease and despair, always fearing he would be caught in the act—but no more. These weaklings, for whom he had sometimes felt pity, were nothing to him now. He didn't fear infection or contamination. He feared nothing. This last time, and then I will be free of them as well as her.

A shriek drew Leary's gaze to a thickset man who backhanded a young girl away from him. She tumbled into the street, where she got up on her knees and promptly vomited all over herself. The sight gladdened him, for if he was taken in this battle, surely others would carry on his good works.

Phillipe parked the van on a side street. "What is this place?"

"Needle Paradise," he said, watching the girl collapse on top of her own puke. "It's where they sell most of the heroin and crack in the city."

"You are to collect humans, not drugs."

"I always come here to make up my quota," Leary told him. "No one cares what happens to the addicts. They're easily persuaded."

Phillipe shut off the engine. "Make this quick, Father."

Leary climbed out of the van and walked out of the alley. A lone skeletal figure standing by the corner darted a look at him. From the way the young man was shivering, he was in need. Leary gestured with a folded fifty between his fingers. When the junkie stepped into the light to reach for it, Leary saw open sores on his arms and the yellow mark of jaundice on his face. He snatched the bill back just as the dirty fingers snatched at it.

"Wot d'ya want, then?"

"A quick one." Leary swept a hand toward Phillipe and the parked van.

"Both of ya?"

Leary shook his head. "Just me."

The junkie hunched his shoulders and trudged down the alley to the back of the van.

Leary opened the doors and gave the young man a nudge. "Inside."

"Wot's tha' smell?"

Honeysuckle sweetness wafted out of the back of the van. "Come, mon ami" Phillipe said, reaching out to touch the addict's neck. "You look in need of a rest."

Leary caught the junkie as he crumpled. "What's wrong with him?" Usually he had to drug or beat the humans he collected.

"I put him to sleep." Phillipe took the young man and put him on the floor of the van. "Bring the rest of them here, to me. I will do the same to them."

The Brethren interrogator found four more young men who were willing to sell themselves, and a lone dealer interested in making a buy, and led them all into the alley to Phillipe, who sent each one into a deep, sound slumber. Leary felt very happy with the arrangement, until he saw her at the end of the block.

"This is enough," Phillipe said. "We will leave this place."

"I've got to take a piss," Leary told the vampire. "Then we'll go."

The fair-haired girl stood with her hips against the back of a rusted-out MINI. She looked older than the other addicts, her skin as pale as milk. Grease spots and food stains spattered the front of the polyester uniform she wore, and as Leary drew closer, he smelled oily potatoes and fried fish.

It was a clever disguise, of course. The bitch would not lower herself to serve others.

Leary didn't want to speak to her—she didn't deserve such kind attention—but this was too public a place to do what was needed.

"Evening, miss," he said as he stopped a few feet from the MINI. Pretending to be fooled by her ruse would keep her from suspecting that he'd recognized her. "All by yourself, then?" ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">