Strictly gothic midnight.., p.24
Strictly Gothic (Midnight Rose Book 1), page 24
“Go then, I’ll wait out here. Be quick, or I’ll leave you behind.”
He looked at her for a long moment, seeming torn. “Okay, you wait by the car. I’ll just be a few minutes. After you see my shots, you’ll be jealous,” he teased.
“But we can always come back,” Serena reminded him.
He sobered again, scanned the tree line and then trudged up the stone steps to the house.
Serena watched him enter the old ruin. There were a few birds singing. That was something. She’d been thinking of the horror movies of old that she liked, where the woods were so deathly silent, and then the zombies came ambling out. Night of the Living Dead was the scariest movie of all time, in her opinion, and it was an oldie shot in black and white. Some of the action took place in daylight. It creeped her out as a kid, and it was on her mind today.
The sun was bright, and the birds were chirping away, merry as ever.
No zombies here.
Leaning against the jeep, she looked up at the old mansion. It had a colonial flavor, a Georgian type of dwelling that was red brick and had a symmetrical balance of twin wings. Weathered, peeling double doors in the front and the same number of windows on each side. Most of the windows were gone, and even the wood between some of the panes was broken off.
It had suffered a fire on the upper stories. It had been a nice place at one time, she could see that through the dirt and blackened bricks outlining the upper story windows. A balcony wrapped around the second story with access doors to the porch just above the front door. No furniture was on the second-floor porch, just dead leaves and tree branches that blew over the rusted railing in a storm.
She listened again. She had that creepy feeling of being watched.
Simon. Was he here? No, he’d make himself known to her if he was.
Serena tipped her head up. No, the sky was blue, the sun was out in full force. He only came out on cloudy or rainy days, so he’d said.
Eight minutes.
Ten minutes. Fifteen.
Twenty minutes. Serena was keeping the time with her phone.
She jumped, hearing a rustling sound behind her in the woods.
A deer bounded across the overgrown lawn, followed by two more. They dashed into the underbrush and were gone. Relieved, she turned about and glanced at the open doorway.
Cher, what is wrong? Why are you frightened?
Damien crept slowly through the hall on the first floor. His training told him to look below, in the basement. It’s were most of the undead hid during the day to avoid the light. A few modern vampires had sun-blocking shields installed in their homes, but The Demon was an old- world vamp and old habits die hard, especially with ancient immortals. Nesting patterns remained. Ingrained behaviors rarely changed.
He was in the back of the house now. A floorboard creaked beneath his foot.
He stopped and listened.
He thought he heard muffled weeping.
The sound was coming from the basement.
He entered the large kitchen and checked the nearest door. Nope. A pantry closet.
Trying the second door, he found the stairs leading down into the damp earth.
Yes, he could sense death resided here. And the musty scent of rock and soil. This house was built in the eighteenth century when cellars were made of stone and had earthen floors. Wine cellars, they called them. It was the perfect vampire hideaway. He’d seen enough of them over the years, in Europe.
He crept down the first few steps. The cellar room had a couple of hanging light bulbs overhead with pull chains, no master light switch. Years of damp, dank conditions left the place smelling of decay and must. Damien peered through the open steps, seeing nothing out of place to the untrained eye. An antique mustard yellow washer and dryer were set up on wood pallets to prevent them from touching the floor. Even so, in the dampness the bottom panels of the machines sported rust. He saw a large metal sink of early 20th century in design and materials. The walls were made of large stones with mortar between them. It was a small cellar for such a big house, hardly more than 20 feet square. There were ancient pipes along the rotting floorboards of the ceiling, indoor plumbing that had been installed a hundred years ago. In the corner he saw an old metal electrical box quietly rusting away.
So, the Demon had done a few upgrades to his lair in the past century.
He took a few more steps down, carefully surveying the room for any sign of a hidden doorway. There had to be more rooms. The undead were consistent in their old-world traditions of having cells to house prisoners or victims beneath their houses, similar to dungeons in ancient times. And most of them slept deep in the earth during the day.
Ah, the wooden pantry shelf. A few dusty jars of canned goods lined the shelf, but he wasn’t fooled. No vamp was going to have a cache of canned tomatoes and green beans on hand to stave off starvation. It was a decoy. He’d stake his life on it.
Stepping silently across the dirt floor in his Doc Martins, he searched the shelf for a secret latch to open the portal. He found it on the left, a small lever hidden behind the wood shelf. He pressed it and the shelf swung out from the wall.
Another tunnel. He followed it, surprised to find a low lantern lit on the wall.
Was this a trap? Or did St. Claire sleep with lights burning?
There it was again, a low keening sound. Weeping. It was more pronounced now that he was on the lower level. He followed the sound through the tunnel, veering right down a stone corridor. A wood pillar holding up the tunnel had a nail on it, and a ring of keys.
Shit, this was too easy.
He snatched the keyring but turned about to scan the area. No one was watching him from the shadows. No hidden cameras that he could see. Just a woman weeping . . .
Or was it a child?
That bastard, would he kidnap children to use for his perverse art?
Damien stalked silently down the row of cells. Empty, all of them.
Except the last. That was where the weeping was coming from.
“I’m ok, really. Just on edge a little after yesterday.” Serena answered Simon’s inquiry aloud. She couldn’t help it. It seemed odd to just think at him. “What are you doing today?”
Sleeping, Simon replied in her mind.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t let me disturb you. It’s all good. We’re working now.” It felt good to talk to Simon, comforting as she waited for Damien to get his shots and get back out here. It was like whistling in the dark, except, she knew Simon could sense her feelings and if she really, really needed him, he’d be there.
Well, he’d be there in a short time, half hour, forty minutes, an hour. He’d said he couldn’t fly. She glanced about the open area, and again her eyes moved to the empty burnt out windows on the second floor. He’d know where she was, at any rate, she told herself.
Thirty minutes . . . Thirty-five . . .
Ok, this was not fun. Hadn’t been to begin with, and it was less so now.
She pressed the contacts button on her cell and was about to call Damien when he emerged from the open doorway. He wasn’t alone.
“Oh, good Goddess!” Her hand flew to her mouth. She stifled a scream.
Damien was carrying a woman, a blonde wearing a dirty white corset and torn silk stockings. She looked to be barely conscious, and she was covered with bruises and smeared blood.
Damien ran to the jeep. “Open the door, quick. She’s still alive.”
“What the hell?” Serena’s mind went blank.
Damien placed the girl in the jeep on the passenger side. He tore his zip front hoodie off and started putting it over the girl to cover her. He slipped her arms in, zipped the front, and then snapped the seat belt around her. The girl let out a moan and raised a scratched dirty arm to shield her face from the sunlight.
“Who is she? What happened? Damien, what is going on?”
“Shhh!” Damien whirled around and grasped Serena firmly by the forearms. He shook her. “Shhh, quiet! Just listen to me; you have get out of here. Take this girl to a hospital, right away. She’s alive, but she needs help.”
He let go of Serena and ran toward the front stairs again.
“Wait—what about you? Where are you going?” Serena followed him. She grabbed his elbow. “Come on, get in the jeep, you’re coming with me—”
“No!” He stopped, turned to her with features made of stone. “Hush, you’ll wake them. Go. Get out of here. It isn’t safe. I have to go back in, there may be other victims.”
“Victims” She repeated mindlessly. “As in Vampire?”
Damien blinked. He hadn’t expected her to say that. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her more closely. “Yes, that poor girl was held against her will, drugged and used as food for a wretched blood sucker. Get her out of here, now. You can save her life, Serena, now go!”
She’d never call him Goth-boy again. He was barking orders at her like a corporal.
Serena hurried back to the jeep and opened the driver’s door. “I can’t leave you behind.”
“I’m good. Go now. They sleep during the daylight hours, but very lightly.” He removed his gun from the back of his pants. “I’ll call for backup.”
“What are you, a Marine?”
“Something like that. Go, go, go!”
With that, he was gone, bounding up the steps like a soldier preparing to storm the castle.
Serena sank into the driver’s seat and closed the door. She hugged the steering wheel, panting, trying to catch her breath as she started the engine. She looked at the girl.
She was slumped in the seat, her head leaning against the window. Her face was dirty, streamed with tears, and . . . and blood?
Oh Goddess, don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
A cold hand wrapped around her jacket lapel and was pawing to find her throat.
Serena jerked back from the driver’s window and choked down a scream.
“Where you think you’re going, Missy?” Jasper hissed, his rotten breath streaming into the window. “The master’s been longing to meet you.”
She struggled to be free of his grip. He was using only one hand to try to subdue her, his fingers creeping toward her throat. His other hand appeared to be missing, rather recently at that. A stump was wrapped in bloody bandages.
“Let go of me!” Serena reached into her boot and withdrew her knife.
Jasper stuck his head in the window, trying to lean over her and reach for her seat buckle with his bandaged stump.
Serena plunged the knife in his throat. He screeched, let go of her and staggered back. His hand went up to the handle as he attempted to pull it out, but blood and gorge was spurting from the wound.
She put the jeep in drive and sped down the overgrown driveway to the road.
Twenty-Seven
Damien turned at the sound of Serena’s screech. He peered out the front door, gun drawn.
Serena’s jeep sped out of the drive, tossing up dirt and weeds as she put the pedal to the metal. Good. He wouldn’t have to worry about protecting her.
He stepped outside, onto the porch at the sight of the pastel cowboy struggling on the ground. He was writhing, his hand at his throat.
Sprinting across the weed festering yard, Damien crouched over Jasper. Serena had stabbed him, right in the throat. Good.
He pulled the knife from the man’s throat and stood over him, quelling the urge to kick the man’s head in. Jasper was still alive. Blood gurgled from his throat, but he was alive.
Or was he? Damien crouched lower. Yep, this one had been feeding on vamp blood for some time. He should be dead, or near it from Serena’s wound.
Damien stood. What to do? He should call for back-up before going inside again. The Guardians could have a team here within minutes. But first, he had to make sure this piece of shit didn’t recover enough to jump him or warn his master after Damien went inside.
They needed Jasper alive so he could be interrogated. That was all that kept him from emptying his pistol into the man’s brain matter.
He hauled the old man up by his shirt collar and dragged him up onto the porch. He found some old telephone wire hanging from the porch railing and jerked it free of its rusted nail moorings. He made a loop and was about to put the man’s hands through it when he realized the dude was missing a hand. The wound was fresh, a stump wound with blood-soaked bandages.
New tactic. Hand behind back, and around the belt, then elbows looped, attach to the post and tied off. He’ll stay put for a while.
Jasper was coming around. Damien punched him in the face, knocking him out.
He took a deep, steadying breath, and pulled out his phone to call in the troops.
“Something amiss here, lad?”
Damien turned, relieved to see Deputy Malone walking near him from the corner of the house. The dead leaves crunched beneath his feet as the officer came around the yard.
“Special Forces. I need your help, Deputy. We have a situation here,”
With a somber face, Malone scrutinized Damien as he slowly climbed front the steps. “What kind of situation?” He withdrew his gun from his holster.
Damien gripped his pistol hard as his hand lingered near his thigh. “Murder, I believe.”
“Ah, you found Jasper,” Malone’s stone-gray eyes surveyed Damien’s prisoner. “He’s wanted for questioning. I thought he might be hiding out here.”
Damien stepped away from Jasper, his weapon stuffed in his belt at his back, his phone in his left hand, thumb ready to press speed dial as the deputy came up the stairs and walked over to peer down at Jasper with disgust.
“White trash,” the deputy murmured. “Probably killed his buddy in a rage.”
“Officer Malone,” Damien turned slightly to peer into the shadowed house, his thumb poised to hit the number for reinforcements. “You can help me secure the building. My commander will explain everything, I’m calling him right--ummph!”
Blinding pain shot through him, and then his world went black.
Serena sped onto the main road and headed for Harmony Corners.
A hospital, Damien said. A hospital?
There wasn’t one in the town. She had no idea where there was one in this area.
Heart ramped up past 100 mph, her jeep speed nearly matched at 87 mph.
She glanced at the girl briefly and then eased her foot off the gas pedal. Easy, the chick was a mess, terrified, so don’t scare her anymore.
“You’re safe,” Serena huffed, gripping the steering wheel with tight fingers. “I’m Serena. What’s your name?”
“Angie,” said in a breathless whisper of one exhausted beyond measure.
“Angie, good. Hold on, we’re turning about.” She pulled into the side of the road and turned about quickly, her tires crunching the gravel as she sped out. She was heading north, to Charring Cross. To Simon. He’d know what to do.
Angie put both arms over her face. “It’s so bright . . .” She didn’t like the sunlight.
“What happened, Angie?” Serena knew she had to keep the girl talking, for both their sakes. The chick was in bad shape. “Did someone kidnap you?”
Pitiful wailing was the answer. A gut searing keening noise, like nails on a blackboard. The poor girl’s dirty hands covered her face. She was weeping, her words coming fast and slurred. “He . . . he made me drink his blood. God, I’m so cold. H-he bit me, over and over. . . God, go faster! He’ll find me. He’ll kill me . . . he’ll kill us . . . so thirsty . . . oh God.”
Serena shivered. Her throat grew tight. Sounded like a vamp took her. And if he made her drink his blood she couldn’t go to a hospital—not like this. What would they do for poor Angie? Was there an anti-vampire venom serum, like with snake bites?
No, they’d put the girl in the psych ward for observation. They wouldn’t believe her.
Simon. Serena pulled out her phone and pressed Simon’s number. It was daytime, but surely he’d pick up? If not, if she could get to the cottage—Ms. Belladonna was kind of a nurse, maybe she could help the girl. “It’s okay, Angie. I’m getting you help. It’ll be okay. I promise.”
More weeping. The poor thing was a mess. “No, no. It’s never going to be ok!” Angie shrieked in wild panic. She wrapped her arms about herself and leaned her torso over her legs and started weeping hysterically again.
Simon’s phone went to voicemail.
Crap. He said he was sleeping today.
She skipped the message option and called again. She’d keep calling till she got thru.
The sound of a siren caught her attention. Serena looked in the rear-view mirror.
“Damn!” she swore. A police car. She pulled over. This was bad. Very bad. With Angie in here, in this condition, she’d have a lot of explaining to do.
As she watched, Deputy Malone stepped out of the car behind her and approached her car.
“Officer Malone,” she said, trying not to show her disgust of the man. “I was speeding, I’ll admit it. I’ve got a girl here who needs medical attention, I—” Serena started as he opened the car door and grabbed her by the neck. “No, no stop that!”
She tried to fight him, but he was strong. Her knife was back at the mansion, in Jasper’s throat. She punched him. He didn’t even flinch. Her seat belt was released, and she was hauled from the vehicle.
“Leaving us so soon, my dear?” Malone said in a sugary sweet voice that made her want to gag. “We’ve barely been able to get to know each other.”
Her reaction was instant, she kneed him in the balls. Shit, resisting arrest, assault? But he wasn’t acting like an official law officer. He was acting like a rogue agent.
He grimaced at her blow and stepped back slightly but didn’t release her.
Son-of-a-bitch! He should have dropped to his knees. Balls of steel.
“You little bitch,” His fist came at her, and that was the last thing she saw.
Simon was wide awake instantly. “Serena,”
He knew something was wrong, he felt her terror. Where are you, cher?
