Adduné - the Vampire's Game (30 page)

In the man’s outstretched palm, Reginald saw a small mound of powder or talc. Its color was a shimmery, luminescent white. Glints of every color of the spectrum sparkled with fevered ecstasy. It held all the refractive and reflective powers of mica. There was a pearl-like luster to the granules. Was it Vintage Mica Snow? Or a woman’s dusting powder? Or fairy dust from a sprite bent on terror?

The man gave Reginald a grinning smile – too wide to be sincere. He took hold of one of the drawstrings between his too perfect teeth and tugged with his free hand on the other. Reginald expected the cord to snap in two under the pressure of what looked like a perfect bite. After the pouch was closed, it disappeared in the man’s interior pocket. He raised his open, even palm towards the fire. He leaned his head towards it, pursed his rouged lips and blew the dust into the fire. In a billowy cloud, it lofted towards the flames as snow blown by a tundra wind.

To Reginald’s astonishment, the fire burst into a kind of wild savageness that threatened to spill the flames far beyond the parameter of the hearth. He recoiled in his chair wondering what prompted the reaction. It ruled out the powder being mica for mica didn’t burn in temperatures below 1100 degrees.

A fearsome devouring smoke was elicited from the fire. It confirmed that Reginald had been wrong in his assumption. He knew what the powder was now – it was the Sands of Time. It held all within its minute, irregular shapes – past, present, and future. It allowed you free rein and the ability to travel backward or forward in time without leaving your chair. It made sense now. The stranger had promised him an answer. It was locked in the past.

Reginald watched in abject awe as a sparkling, transparent, glittering cloud took shape in front of the fire. The man inched the footstool back so Reginald could have an unobstructed view. As the fire spewed more black smoke, the cloud increased in size and density. As it did, Reginald became aware of figures within its soft edges. Reginald recognized the figure in the center of the cloud – it was a young Reginald Charles with a headful of pomaded brown hair and a flat stomach. He sat in his newly acquired offices – the offices he still occupied today. Only they looked as they did when he first moved in – with the second-hand furniture and old blinds.

On his first desk was his old rotary phone. It rang and he picked up the receiver. It was Arthur calling. Reginald remembered the day. He wanted to leap into the fire – into the dream that was a reality. He’d do it if only he could move. Here was his chance to go back in time. He could be reunited with his old friend and relive all those years with him. Reginald tried again to move, but couldn’t. It was impossible. He sat wishing it were different – wishing he could move. He watched the day unfold anxious to see what happened next.

“
Arthur! Where have you disappeared to? I wired you the money as you asked.”

“
Yes, received and about to be spent. And I suppose I can now tell you where I am. I’m in Romania.”

“
Romania? What on earth are you doing in Romania?”

“
Nothing you need to know, you straight arrow. You’d just disapprove and spoil the fun.”

Reginald saw himself stiffen with righteous indignation. He often did that when he felt people were going afoul of the law.

“
Arthur, you’re not going to do something illegal, are you? I am your friend as well as your barrister and I’m advising against you …”

“
Oh, save the lecture! I’m just going to do a little vampire hunting.”

“
What? We must have a bad connection because I thought you said …”

“
Vampire hunting,” Arthur pronounced more slowly and more loudly. “That is what I said. I’m going to catch me a vampire!”

Reginald heard the click of the phone and then the dial tone, but Reginald didn’t need to hear or see any more. He remembered the whole day now. Remembered he had been worried about Arthur getting caught doing something illegal in spite of his protests. And then he returned home with …

The blonde man held out his hands in front of Reginald. He’d removed his wig – it was thrown to the floor. His blonde hair spilled down and over his shoulders. It was thick and shiny and looked like silk. His palms were in a parallel position – one above the other. A red antique egg appeared between them. It was that egg the Miranda had inquired about. The one that was a fake. The man held it in front of Reggie. He opened it. Inside was a rich red heart that bled a single droplet of blood.

Reginald’s heart was pounding. Why was he showing him that blasted egg? It didn’t warrant attention. Yes, it had a slight value, but its true value came as being part of the cache that Arthur had purchased. Wait a minute! He’d purchased the rest of those things on that trip to Romania. He had said he had gone antique shopping, but there never were any receipts – just a bill from the Sokolov movers. They were well-known for smuggling antiques out of countries, but what did any of this collection have to do with hunting vampires? What?

In the far distance, Reginald heard a soft knocking. He ignored it and stared into the man’s eyes becoming more and more lost. The man stopped grinning and pulled back his mouth into a grimace that showed long, white incisors. It was the face of a predator before they struck. The face of an attacking tiger bearing down on fallen prey. This was what loomed over Reginald – fiercely hissing and readying an attack.

In a split second, he was at Reginald’s throat. Reginald felt his hand on his shoulder tapping him insistently. The tapping would not be ignored and persisted. Reginald tried to get out of its way, but couldn’t move. He endured its steady drone.

“
Reginald? Reginald? Are you alright, dear? Reginald, answer me?”

“
Adduné,” Reginald extolled in a breath he perceived to be his last.

“
What?”

Reginald heard the lilting voice so difference from the one that had been speaking. Where it came from he didn’t know, but it was close. Near to him. Was he still sitting down?

His wife’s touch saved him from the awful dream. It had been her jostling him – her knocking at the door. He looked up to see her standing over him and not the face of the man that had changed into a demon before his eyes. Bonnie took the empty brandy sifter still in his hand, and placed it on the side table that had shifted back into its proper position. He searched the room – making certain they were alone. He grabbed his neck, noting that there was no blood and no damage. It had only been a dream and nothing more. An awful dream like the one Figgs and Pinckus must have had. No wonder they found them so repellant – no wonder they had decided to end them once and for all.

Reginald’s head was aching. He let it fall forward resting it in his open palms. What had just happened? His wife knelt down beside him and put her hand on his knee. She didn’t like to see her husband so upset.

“
Are you alright, dear?”

“
Yes, I must have dozed off. I had the most horrible dream.”

“
A bad dream? My poor darling!” Bonnie lovingly cajoled.

“
Bonnie, was anyone here to see me this afternoon?”

“
No, no one,” she responded. Reginald relaxed a bit. He had been foolish to think what he was thinking – that vampires needed to be invited in.

“
Just a nice man that was helping you with Weatherly Manor. He said he would catch you at the office so I didn’t think to mention it.”

“
Yes, yes, a blonde man. Tall, elegant, handsome.”

“
Very striking indeed. And his manners … oh! Quite out of another century!”

Reginald sat crippled by this knowledge. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

“
He didn’t leave his name did he?”

“
No, but you implied that you know him. Surely, you must know his name?”

“
Yes, yes, that’s right. That’s right.”

“
My poor, poor darling husband. You’re exhausted. You’ve been working too long and too hard so,” she said tenderly patting his face and tucking her arm under his. Deliberately rising she nudged him up to his feet. “I have only one choice and that is to put you under arrest and order you to come upstairs to bed with me,” she said laying her head on his shoulder and interlacing her arm with his. “I promise to keep all those big, bad wolves away.”

He reciprocated the sweet sentiment with a kiss, but inside was thinking,
“If only you could, Bonnie. If only you could.”

CHAPTER 18

Things went quickly downhill after Reginald arrived at the Perry estate,. He kept his usual effusive greetings to Constance to a bare minimum – offering only a cordial hello and nothing more. How could he? He’d been blindsided.

He’d only inquired where Miranda could be found. He hadn’t been prepared for the answer Constance gave him. He brushed past her and hurried up the stairs as quickly as he could. He hoped that Constance was wrong, but unfortunately, what she said had been accurate. Miranda was indeed in her bedroom – packing for a trip to America.

“
But why? Why are you going to Fairfield of all places? Reginald pleaded. He stood awkwardly to the side allowing Miranda a clear pathway from her closet to the large suitcase on her bed.

“
Because I was invited that’s why,” she said holding up a dress and pressing it against her body. She looked at her image in the mirror and made a face. “Not that it’s any business of yours,” she added tossing the dress aside. She returned to the closet rummaging for more appropriate selections. She knew Jake was very particular about what his women wore, and she wasn’t about to disappoint him. She remembered the brief fling they had last summer. It had been hot, juicy fun. She couldn’t wait to resume the torrid affair. She hadn’t been with a man since the death of her father and was craving male attention.

“
Invited by whom? Oh, don’t tell me,” Reginald huffed, pounding one hand into the palm of the other. “It was that Jake Monroe character, wasn’t it?” He walked to the vanity table and sat on a pink taffeta chair. “When did this brilliant idea occur to that gigolo?”

Miranda was preoccupied with the two dresses she held in front of her. Both were good, but were they good enough to hold Jake’s rakish charm?

“
Jake is not a gigolo. And he asked me yesterday. Last night. He called and invited me to the opening. It fits in perfectly since I wanted to visit Tiffany, so first it’s Fairfield and then onto New York.”

She didn’t need to tell Reginald her friend Tiffany’s last name. Tiff had been her roommate in college – they had remained best friends ever since. Tiffany Rodriguez was like the sister Miranda never had. They were each part of an extended family. The last time Miranda had seen her, was when she’d journeyed to England to attend her father’s funeral. She was looking forward to reconnecting under happier circumstances. Miranda already planned on doing major damage while in New York. They could hit the clubs, do some power shopping, and get into the kind of trouble rich, beautiful girls did best.

Miranda held up one dress after another until she found the right one. She had … the light green one was perfect. It was a Lagerfeld and every fashionista knew that he could do no wrong. Let the other ladies sashay around in black and white. Miranda would stand out in the fetching color of peridot. Miranda left the dress on its hanger and slid it in her pricey matching designer garment bag. She glanced at Reginald perched uncomfortably in the prissy pink chair and burst into laughter.

“
What? What are you laughing at Miranda?”

“
You! Balanced in that chair! Give you a bonnet and you’d look just like Miss Muffet!”

Reginald leapt up, hat in hand, angrily pushing the chair back into its proper place. He strode towards Miranda demanding she pay attention.

“
Listen here! Your smart remarks are going to get you killed!”

She turned towards him no longer smiling. They locked eyes.

“
Killed? Are you insane, Reginald? I was just kidding!”

Reginald wanted to take her in his arms and just hold her. Hold her and protect her from life’s harm, but she wasn’t his. She was Arthur’s daughter … grown daughter and could do as she liked. It meant that he had to convince her to listen to him. It was going to be difficult. She was so hard-headed. He’d spent the morning thinking about what had happened last night and trying to decide what to say. He had pieced together the bare bones of a story based on Arthur’s treasure hunt. The problem rested on the fact that Reginald didn’t know all of what Arthur had done. It left him to fill in the blanks with what he could reasonably deduce. He knew that Miranda needed facts, but logic was only one element in what had transpired. It’s why he was not going to reveal everything. He only planned on saying what was necessary – what he thought she could handle. He prayed it was enough.