When I woke, everything was fuzzy, and I had no idea where I was. My eyelids felt like someone has pasted them together, and cobwebs and old cotton candy had replaced my brain. My body was oddly heavy, as if the earth was pulling me toward its center, and I couldn't move my arms or legs. Had there been an accident? Where was I and who had brought me here? I could not yet tell if I was hurt, but I was certainly scared, really scared. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Panic and hysteria hit at once as flashes of memory flew through my mind, engulfing me and threatening to take complete control. My breathing was labored and my head ached. Were those voices? Sounded like it, faint and mixed in with footsteps. Feigning sleep, I listened and tried not to scream. A doorknob turned, footsteps entered the room, more than one pair. And the smell?
Something familiar, sweet. Cloves, from a cigarette.
As if on cue, I felt the warmth of light breath close to my ears and a stream of sweet-smelling smoke was blown directly into my face.
"So, our little angel still sleeps," said the throaty voice of a woman.
"Yes, madam," came the courtly response. This one was a man.
"Or perhaps she just pretends. No matter. When she chooses to communicate, let me know right away. I would speak with her first, before anyone."
"I am sorry, madam, that is out of the question. Master Julius has left strict instructions. No one is to speak with her unless he is present."
"And you?"
"I may communicate only about her need for sustenance or functional necessities."
"She is comfortable?"
"Of course. I will see to everything she needs."
"You'd better. Julius will have your head if she wants for anything."
"Yes, madam."
"Jenkins, I want you to come to my chambers tomorrow night, before the turning. I think it's time you and I had a tiny chat."
"As you wish, madam."
I heard one pair of footsteps leave the room, waited for the smell of cloves to thin, and tried to figure out which one of them had left. It was the woman and when I was sure that the man and I were alone, I opened my eyes a sliver and watched him moving about. He was small and perfectly groomed, wearing a black suit. His hair was gray and thinning, and he moved with effort, as if age had erected a toll booth he had to pass through with every movement. The night spilled into the room as he threw open the heavy drapes.
Watching him move about, the fog of my mind began to clear and, with a rush, it all came back in a tumbling blur. The cabin, Tucker and Rex going out into the rain, the gleam of Tucker's gun, distant shots and faint shouts, hands roughly pulling me from bed, but then nothing else. A wave of nausea threatened as the memories crystallized. All I could think about was Tucker and what could have happened to him. Whatever it was, I knew it couldn't be good. My mind struggled to make sense of this nightmare that I was not waking up from.
A fire was lit in a massive stone fireplace, crackling, the only source of light. The orange glow gradually illuminated the room as my eyesight grew accustomed to the dimness. It was a small room, densely furnished in Gothic style with period tables, chairs, foot cushions, shelves of books, candelabra, and dark, heavy drapes framing the narrow windows from floor to ceiling. Ornate wood trimmed the angles, polished to a high gloss. I skimmed the paintings on the walls, closely spaced and elaborately framed.
The centerpiece was a dominating painting above the fireplace, a huge oil of a woman wearing a sheer blue gown. She looked familiar, but it took a few minutes to realize why. Oh, God, she looked like me.
Panic surged anew, and I struggled to keep it at bay. I concentrated on my breathing, taking deep breaths, until I could master my own voice.
"Where am I?" I said as forcefully as I could muster to the man's back. He turned, startled by my voice.
"Are you hungry?"
"Am I hungry?" I echoed incredulously Why would he ask such a thing at a time like this?
"Are you hungry?" he repeated.
Suddenly, it seemed like such a pertinent question, as my stomach growled impatiently "Yes, I suppose I am."
"I will attend to it immediately Should I select something for you, or do you have a preference?"
"I would like a filet mignon, medium rare, a glass of pinot noir, preferably from the Pacific Northwest, two Dungeness crab legs, new red potatoes, boiled please, and a chocolate mousse with whipped cream," I demanded.
"Yes, madam. As you wish." He moved toward the door.
I should be petrified or screaming, but instead a shaky sort of calm was descending. Like a fresh coat of paint over my fear.
"Wait," I called to the old man as his hand reached for the door. "I would like to see the woman who was in this room previously with you."
Why had I said that? In the few seconds she had bent over me, I already knew that she scared me. I didn't really want to see her.
"My apologies, madam. That is not possible."
Maybe that was a good thing.
"It is true that you are to see to my needs?" I continued.
"Yes, madam."
"And that Julius will have your head if you disobey me?"
He sighed and gave in. "Very well, madam."
The man bowed and left the room. Just who the hell were these people? They were clearly moneyed, old money from the looks of it, and I guessed had lived above the law long enough that they had lost all respect for anything. Was that it? Hadn't I read stories somewhere before about what the super rich did to stay interested in life? The weird games, the elaborate hoaxes?
Maybe this Julius man was simply bored, and needed a new game. Had he been stalking me? Was he obsessed with me? Could it be as simple as sex?
Thoughts of Tucker poured into my reeling mind. I should never have gone to LonePine, never have involved Tucker in this mess. Maybe by some miracle he'd managed to escape, to get away from these monsters, but there was a foggy memory of a woman's voice asking if the cowboy had been eliminated. And the answer. Yes. If that was true, there was no reason to hope, no reason to fight.
A numbness took hold of my thoughts and the terror gained ground. Tucker wouldn't give up. He'd kick and fight until something gave way A tiny sense of resolve woke up in me and my thoughts became more ordered. I had to get out of there. No matter what else happened, escape was the first order of business and the first step was to move the body, make sure everything still worked. I went through a quick inventory of major muscles and they all responded sluggishly It was a start. Still lightheaded, I held the bedpost and stood, my blood tingling as it tried to circulate. At the window, I could see the welcome sight of the towering skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline. At least I had home court advantage.
Just to tempt fate, I tried the door. It was locked from the outside. Damn. I assumed the old man would be back soon. I should have asked for something more complicated to eat, like lasagna with oven-roasted veal. How long could it take to boil potatoes?
Not long enough.
I made a quick circuit of the room. No telephone, no jacks even. No electronic gadgets of any kind. Nothing that could serve as a weapon. Everything had a soft, fatty feel to it. The drawers were mostly empty, like a hotel room. And like a hotel room, there was a Bible in the top one. It looked impossibly old and thinner than it should be. When I opened it, the layout was all wrong. I couldn't remember a book of the Bible named after the Apostle Crinos. If I remembered Sunday school at all, there was no Apostle Crinos.
There were two interior doors in my luxurious prison. The first opened into an enormous walk-in closet filled with designer clothes, lingerie, jeans, and sweaters. The clothes, shoes, even the underwear and brassieres were all, and only, my size. How the hell had they done that? They were even clothes that would have looked good on me. These freaks had better taste in my clothing than I did. Well, I thought, this certainly lent credence to the stalking theory; it seemed they had been watching me for some time.
The other door opened to an elaborate bathroom with a clawfoot tub long enough to stretch out in. Shit, it was practically long enough to swim in. The sink was a marble pedestal and there was a bidet and toilet in a separate alcove. The floor was tiled and the pattern extended into an intricate mural on the wall. Piles of plush towels filled the shelves, along with scented oils, soaps, and creams. If I hadn't been in the middle of hell, I would have thought I'd died and gone to heaven.
Still, the hurried tour of my opulent prison provided no real clue as to what was going on or why they were keeping me. It was like I had fallen through the looking glass. If I could get out of the room long enough to do a quick reconnaissance, maybe I could figure out where and how to run. But how to get out? It wasn't like I could click my heels and go home. I was a prisoner.
And they obviously had the means to keep me here as long as they wanted.
For now, it seemed like the best bet was to play along - use the power they were giving me as their Queen. Based on what had happened so far, they seemed to be required to do my bidding. Except for Julius. What was his game? His memory made me feel ill; how could I have ever let him close to me, tell him the details of my life. I could still feel his mesmerizing voice echoing in my ears. It sounded like...
There was a knock at the door.
"Who is it?" I asked, hoping I sounded stronger than I felt. I closed my eyes and told myself to remember the plan, to act regally and unafraid, to participate in their game as an equal, at least until I could escape.
"Your dinner is served, madam."
"Please enter." He set down a tray brimming with lavishly prepared dinner items. A voice in the back of my mind warned against more drugs in the food, but I was starving. Besides, if they wanted to drug me, they could just hold me down and do it. He was so elegant in the way he made up the table, laid the silver, and poured the wine. And there was something almost gentle about him.
"What's your name?"
"Jenkins, madam." Even when he called me madam, it didn't sound funny. It sounded natural.
"Jenkins, why am I here?" I asked, sipping a glass of pinot noir.
In response, he simply smiled, like a trained monkey, bowed and left the room.
The steak was cooked to perfection and I washed it down with the wine, which was fabulous. There was drawn butter for the crab legs, fresh sour cream for the potatoes. In a restaurant, this would've set me back a hundred bucks. After eating, I felt a bit better, and as I finished the last spoonful of chocolate mousse, there was another knock at the door.
Again, I reminded myself to act haughty, indifferent. "Now who is it?"
"Elita. You requested an audience." Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
Some plan. Now I would really have to wing it.
"Please enter."
I was stunned. This woman was gorgeous. Her dark, silky hair was pinned carelessly to her head, her ivory skin was smooth as satin and her green eyes glinted with suggestion. Her breasts spilled out of a white blouse and her short but perfectly tailored black skirt shadowed her hips, an exquisite, curvaceous cross between voluptuous earth goddess and Madison Avenue model.
She smiled at me. This was a game for her. A flush spread from my throat, down my spine to my thighs, but I fought it under control.
She looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and boredom. "I'm impressed. The dose I just gave you would have made any other Adamite cringe and beg and plead for me. Your kind can be most amusing."
In my mind, I told myself not to overthink this, to trust my instincts and just talk. This woman was powerful and, therefore, could be useful. Perhaps she was Julius' spurned mistress and sexual jealousy could be used to my advantage. "Obviously, you are not speaking to just any . Adamite, as you so charmingly call us."
"Over the centuries there have been only a few who have not willingly given in to their passion for me. In fact, I could count them on one hand. That is because I am passion." She sounded almost rehearsed, speaking in a tedious monotone. "I am lust. I am the dark side of human sexuality in the flesh."
"I guess you'll have to move to the fingers on your other hand now. And just give it a rest, I'm not interested. The vampy trampy thing has been done. Frankly, uh, what was your name?"
"Elita."
"Frankly Elita, after what I've experienced in the last few months, you could never measure up."
"Ah yes, with your little cowboy."
"Is he alive?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I asked."
"As good a reason as any, I suppose. It would seem he is still alive." Relief welled up inside me. "Despite our best efforts, I might add. You must have made quite an impression on him. Or else he has a deeply entrenched survival instinct, like a cockroach. No wonder your culture has such a fascination with cowboys. But don't get your hopes up. He will be dead if he tries to find you."
My hopes were already up. Not in being rescued. Just knowing that he was alive gave me renewed hope in finding a way out of this nightmare. What a story this would make for Harrolds' . Definitely Pulitzer material.
"I have friends who will miss me."
"Like your photographer friend?" She smiled cruelly. "A shame he took your breakup so hard. Just couldn't seem to go on living without you." Her tone was even, but there was a perverse enjoyment hidden deep within.
"You killed him." It was not a question.
She smiled. "No. He committed suicide. I just helped."
I wanted to slap her face, tear at her hair for the ambivalence she was showing toward taking a life. But that was exactly what she wanted. She was trying to goad me and so I choked back the anger and sat quietly, composed on the outside, but my brain was reeling.
Her features darkened as she studied my calmness and so she pressed on. "Yes, it was a real shame about Ric. And you shan't have to worry about your dear cat. What was his name?"
"Felix," I whispered, my throat constricted.
"Your landlady was no longer able to watch over Felix, so I took it upon myself to offer a helping hand."
"And how is he?"
"Delicious. He was delicious."
"You ate my cat. I cannot believe you ate my cat. You are so sick." Of course I knew that she didn't really eat my cat, but to even say such a thing! My rage was growing, which meant she was winning now and knew it. I was in a real mess here. I tried to change the subject and hoped my voice wasn't trembling like my heart. "I want a tour of this compound, or whatever it is."
"A tour? Forget it, Julius would have my head."
"Are you afraid of Julius?"
"Of course. Only an idiot wouldn't be. He has the power to turn."
"The power to turn?"
Elita smiled. "You'll find out soon enough." She moved close to me and whispered in my ear, letting the heat of her breath drip down my neck. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a little pleasure in these last hours of your mortality?"
"You are laughable. What I'd like, instead, little girl, is a tour."
"Yes, little girl," came a quiet voice from the door, "she'd like a tour. Give it to her." Elita pulled away guilty at being caught. As I turned to face the voice, I felt inexplicably cold, a shiver wracking my frame. As I expected. Julius. He bowed.
"You owe me an explanation, Julius," I said.
"And you shall receive it. Soon," he responded, straightening. "Elita, take our future Queen for a stroll and then, Elizabeth, will you be so kind as to join me for drinks in the main parlor in, shall we say, an hour?"
"Oh, I don't know. I did have other plans. Like escaping."
"I'll bring her to you," said Elita.
"How kind. Plan on remaining, a witness to our chat." Julius left the room almost as quickly as he had appeared.
"Don't get any ideas about escaping," Elita said tiredly, as we walked out into the hall. "It's impossible."
"I am the Queen. Don't tell me what to do."
"You're not the Queen until Julius turns you. Until then, little girl," she drew out the last phrase sarcastically, "you are merely a prisoner."
It was like no place I had ever seen. The splendor, the wealth. Impressive on a certain level, but it only left me cold. Cold and anxious to find a way out. I examined each door, wondering where it led: another hallway, another room? There had to be a way out. This was Manhattan, for God's sake. How could a woman of reasonable intelligence be kept prisoner among the teeming masses of New York? If these freaks really were Vampires, all I had to do was wait for the sun to rise, sneak out by day and bribe the guards. Bam, I'd be gone. What the hell was I thinking? They're not really Vampires. There's no such thing. I must be losing my mind.
"How did you get me here?" My voice was rising in spite of my best efforts.
"I'm right next to you, there's no need to yell. And frankly I don't know why you think I should answer all your questions."
"Sorry I'm a little off center. Kidnapping tends to do that to me." She smiled in spite of herself. "What does it matter, my questions? Like you said, I'm a prisoner."
"How we got you here is quite simple, and not very compelling. Barely worth the effort of retelling. In short, enough money in your pathetic, rational world will get you just about anything you want."
"Is that what this is all about? Boredom? Are you looking for some new kicks?"
"I wish it were that simple. If only you were just a new face for Julius' temporary amusement," she trailed off into silence.
"Why do you allow yourself to be held here by such a marginal looking man as Julius? You're a knockout, you could have anyone you want."
"I have spent centuries having anyone I want. After a while, even newness becomes tedious."
"Why are you part of this, this game of Vampirism?"
"This is no game. You'll find out soon enough. No more questions. It really is quite boring."
As we walked down the hall, I noticed a heavy wooden door with metal bracing bars, bolted with an iron padlock.
"Where does that lead?" I asked my lovely, unwilling hostess.
Elita sighed, acquiescing to my curiosity. "To the ritual rooms below."
"May I see them?"
"No, they are sacred to our kind, not to be profaned by simple curiosity. Your turning will take place in them tomorrow night.
Then you can see them firsthand."
"My turning?"
"Let Julius explain that. He's infinitely more articulate than I am."
"Julius, again Julius, I don't understand why you are so obedient to such a little pip-squeak."
Elita's face echoed the scorn in her voice. "Soon, my dear Queen-to-be, you will be completely in awe of Julius yourself." She paused and licked her lips. "I think I will greatly enjoy seeing your high and mighty attitude leveled. You have no idea what you're in for, do you?"
"No. But I hope it entails a Pulitzer Prize in journalism."
Elita shook her head and opened the French doors off of the massive dining room. I followed her out onto the moonlit balcony.
Delicately crafted wrought-iron furniture was placed carelessly about.
"All I really need to know is that when the police find out, you and Julius and all you other freaks are in for some hard time."
Elita giggled. It was charming and unexpected from her exquisite face, but the girlish laugh and giggle somehow only made her even more seductive, lighting her face like a virgin. "You are so naive," she stammered through another giggle, as I pushed past her and walked alone into the garden, "and for some unknown reason, that's rather endearing."
She stopped suddenly and with it, her humor faded. "I wonder if you are toying with me. Are you that smart?" she asked my retreating back.
I continued to walk into the wet grass; it was cold against my bare feet. At last, I turned to look back at the house. Elita cut an imposing silhouette in the moonlight, leaning over the balcony.
"How do you keep this place so peaceful?" I called to Elita. "What keeps out the masses?"
"There's a facade of rowhouses around the whole block. We own it all. We also employ a small army of guards who are paid handsomely for their services. They are full time, so don't get any ideas about escaping by daylight. Some of them are part Vampire, simply biding their time until Julius chooses to turn them, others are descendants of families that have been under our protection and in our service for centuries. Very loyal. They live much better than any other Adamites and are promised safety on the day of reckoning."
"The day of reckoning?"
"It's closer than you think. And all because of you." There was a tone in her voice, almost mocking, but not quite.
How could I respond to such nonsense? If I wasn't a prisoner and they hadn't tried to destroy all that I loved, I would just laugh in their faces and cross to the other side of the street.
"Come back," Elita shouted, "we must go to Julius."
I was tempted to make a run for it, but Elita had let me get this far away and that probably meant we were being watched, or else she was really fast. Either way, my chances now were not good. Better to wait for something more promising, I thought.
They may be crazy, but I didn't think they'd actually kill me. Why go to all this trouble just to kill the Queen?
"All right," I said instead, "let's go have a drink with your God, Julius."
He was waiting in the parlor, sitting in a leather armchair. Old-fashioned reading glasses were perched on his aquiline nose and he stared intently at a leather-bound book. He looked up and smiled as we entered, then serenely removed his glasses and placed the book on the oak table nearby.
"Time has dulled even my eyes a bit, but I can still see that before me are the two most exquisite creatures in the world," he said, standing.
He looked like a poor imitation of Mr. Rogers. "Could we just cut to the chase?" I said. "Why have you brought me here? You won't get away with it. The police are already looking for you, and by this time, for me too."
He gestured dismissively. "Lizzie, my dearest, to us these matters are no different than the buzzing of an annoying mosquito.
Hasn't the demise of your photographer and the cowboy convinced you of this yet?"
My heart stopped. Literally. It was dead in my chest and the room swam. Then it skipped and stuttered, barely starting up again before I was able to mutter in response. "Tucker is dead?" I looked quickly at Elita, the bitch, why had she lied? Elita stared stonily ahead, avoiding my eyes.
Julius interrupted my hatred. "Please. This is not how I wanted our first conversation to begin. This is all in the past now. Your life is just beginning. May I offer you a drink?"
"No."
"Please. Sit." He motioned to the stool at the base of his chair. I sat, feeling tired and utterly defeated. Elita moved to the fireplace, warming her hands.
"There is much I need to tell you, my child, so much history in order for you to understand who you are and why you will be our Queen, my Queen, and why together we will see the unseating of twenty centuries of Adamite rule."
I rolled my eyes, how could I do anything else? What an insipid old fool he was. Julius held up his hand, looked sternly at me. I couldn't help it, my gaze hit the floor, his look was just too intense, too difficult to master. But my anger was building, a rage that began to completely replace my fear of this situation. Soon, somehow, I would lay waste to his little kingdom and all that inhabited it. The fool spoke and his words wormed their way into my mind.
"Let me begin with your beginnings. Seventeen centuries ago, in a very different place, your ancestors were promised to me. For a variety of reasons, I have not yet chosen to claim what is rightfully mine. I fully intend to do so now."