Duet in Blood (13 page)

Where’s that fine lookin’ man of yours anyway? I haven’t seen him come a-callin’ lately.”

“He’s in Europe, but he’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Praise Jesus! These walls will be rockin’ tomorrow night!” He kissed me on the

forehead. “Well, you take care, honey. I’ll see you later.”

I grinned as I watched him sashay up the street.
Thank you, Rhonda!

Friday night, I was practically shaking with excitement at the thought of seeing Joseph again. I had run around the apartment, making sure everything was clean and shiny and in its proper place. I left myself for last—standing in the shower under the scalding hot spray, making sure I, too, was clean and shiny—and smelling good.

I had a wild idea of answering his knock at my door, totally naked. But, on reflection, I figured that might be a little too cheesy, so I picked out a skimpy sports shirt, made for easy access, and cargo shorts—no briefs. Thank God I did, for when I answered the knock at my DUET IN BLOOD

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door, it wasn’t Joseph standing there looking all hunky and smiley—it was Ron and Jean-Claude, both looking decidedly grim.

“Hey guys…” I looked from one to the other. “What’s up?”

“Can we both come in?” Ron asked.

“No,” I kidded. “You have to leave Jean-Claude outside. Why are you asking? Of

course, you can come in.” They walked into my living room and stood awkwardly staring at me.

Something was very wrong.

“Is it Joseph?” My voice had become a wobbly squeak.

Jean-Claude took my arm. “Sit down, Micah.” I gazed into his dark blue eyes and, feeling suddenly weak at the knees, sat down.

“Marcus called us a little while ago,” he began. “You know Joseph had a meeting with him when he arrived back from Europe?”

I nodded and whispered, “Yes…”

“The limo driver reported to Marcus that Joseph did not get off the plane.”

“Oh, Jesus…”

“Marcus immediately called the airline and was informed that no one named Joseph Meyer boarded the plane in Paris. I’m afraid Joseph is missing, Micah. Marcus has repeatedly called his cell phone, left messages…but with no results.”

I stared at him silently, trying to fathom what this meant. Joseph was missing…
missing
.

What did that mean? Had he been in an accident? Was he, even as we sat here doing nothing, lying in some foreign hospital fighting for his life? Oh, dear God!

“Micah?” Ron sat by me and took my hand.

“Could he be in a hospital?” I asked, weakly.

“Marcus has called every hospital in Paris. He’s still checking, of course, with the…uh…authorities.”

I felt numb. Every part of me seemed to stop functioning. I couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. I was aware of Ron putting his arms around me and saying something. I didn’t hear a word. All I kept thinking was how unfair life could be. Just when I thought I had met the one man I could love for the rest of my life, he was taken from me—and no one knew how, DUET IN BLOOD

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or where, or why. The thought that something terrible could have happened to this sweet man filled me with dread. I bowed my head to Ron’s shoulders and sobbed my heart out.

The days that followed with no news of Joseph seemed interminable. In order to retain my sanity, I went to work every day and, in front of everyone there, put myself through the motions of everyday life. Every night when I got home, I would run to the answering machine, hoping—praying—that there would be a message from Joseph or from someone who knew him to tell me he was all right and would be in Los Angeles any day now.

Roger called me several times and even came over to my apartment at my invitation.

We got drunk together one night, me on beer, and him on the expensive red wine I had bought for Joseph’s return from Europe. He was sweet and caring, and even in my drunken state, I could sense there was something more he wanted to tell me—something really important.

“What is it, Roger? What’s the big secret everyone’s keeping from me?”

He gave me a wide-eyed look of innocence. “There’s no shecret…” He was quite a bit drunker than me, I realised.

Hmm…just the right prodding and I might get to hear all. I poured him another glass of wine. “Go on, you can tell me. I swear I’ll never repeat it or say you told me.”

“Okay…” He took a big gulp of his wine. His eyes were bright with the effect of the alcohol, and he looked like an errant schoolboy about to divulge the goods about his fellow playmates. Then he seemed to sag in the chair and hiccupped loudly.

“Shorry, I can’t… Marcus is really pished at me right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“He jush told me sho…”

“Huh?” I gaped at him.

“I mean, he will tell me when I get home. Oooh, he’s goin’ to be sho mad at me.”

He was a lot drunker than I thought. “I better see you home tonight,” I said.

“No, no…jush pour me into a cabbie, and I’ll be fine.”

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“Roger, in the state you’re in you couldn’t make it to a cab. Maybe you should stay the night.”

“That’sh nice of you, Micah.”

There was a sudden knocking at my door. “Micah, it’s Marcus. May I come in?”

Marcus. I ran to the door and swung it open. “Of course, Marcus. Come on in. I’m afraid Roger’s had one too many.”

Roger looked up at his lover with a bleary expression. “Oh, ho there,” he said, giggling.

“Did you come to fly me home?”

“Roger…” Marcus knelt by his side and stroked his hair. “You know you shouldn’t be drinking so much yet.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “He came over to make me feel better, and I’m afraid I offered him too much wine.”

Marcus looked up at me with an unreadable expression. I felt anger flicker at me from his eyes, but his voice was steady as he said, “That’s all right.”

“I didn’t tell him anything, I swear,” Roger babbled, clutching at Marcus’ arm.

“Hush…”

Marcus picked him up in his arms as though he weighed nothing at all.
Wow
, I thought,
he’s way strong
.

“I’ll just take him home now, if you don’t mind.”

“You have a car outside?”

“No, I’ll get a cab. Thank you for offering to let Roger stay the night.”

“That’s okay,” I mumbled.

“Nighty-night…” Roger gave me a little wave as Marcus carried him out. I closed the door behind them and stood for a moment thinking hard. How had Marcus known that I had offered Roger a bed for the night? Had he heard me through the door? And how did he manage to just show up right then? I opened the sliding glass door that led out to the tiny balcony where I kept a couple of potted plants.
Marcus and Roger should be just about coming
out onto the sidewalk
, I thought, hoping they didn’t have too long to wait for a cab.

I saw a shadow fall across the sidewalk below me, cast by the light from the apartment building doorway. Then the shadow vanished—and there was no sign of Marcus and Roger waiting for a cab. Where the heck had they gone? I stood on tiptoe, straining over the balcony DUET IN BLOOD

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rail, thinking they might still be on the steps…but no. They were gone, as surely as though they had disappeared into thin air.

I couldn’t sleep that night, or the next. So many things seemed strange to me, and there were feelings of unease that I couldn’t shake off, no matter how I tried to rationalise them.

Joseph’s disappearance, of course, was foremost in my mind, but there were other things—

like Marcus suddenly appearing at my door, as if he knew Roger was in a weakened state about to divulge facts he should not, then, the way they had just suddenly not been there anymore. They had to have walked out onto the sidewalk to pick up a cab. Why then hadn’t I seen them leave? It just didn’t make any sense. I thought back to the night at Marcus and Roger’s dinner party…Ron’s weird behaviour, that strange undercurrent of tension I’d felt from him, the warning looks I’d seen pass from one guest to another on occasion.

What did it all mean, if anything? Was the shock of Joseph’s disappearance making my imagination go a little more crazy than usual? Or was I right in thinking that all of them were keeping something from me, some secret that if I ever found it out would make me think less of them?

Thoughts of Joseph kept me awake into the wee small hours, until I finally gave up, getting out of bed to make myself a cup of coffee. It was still dark outside as turned on the TV. As I watched the early morning news, I started to think it was strange that in the days since Joseph’s disappearance, not one mention of it had been made on the TV news or in the newspapers. Okay, he wasn’t a well-known, prominent figure, but someone with a plane reservation not showing up for a flight caused big delays at the airport these days. And his subsequent disappearance should have at least made it into the international news section of the newspaper. I had looked and found nothing.

How does someone just vanish off the face of the earth? It happens a lot, I know, but usually because they want to disappear, for reasons generally known only to themselves.

Now, I could have gotten all big-headed and reckoned that, with me waiting for him in LA, there was no reason at all for him to run away into obscurity. Yet, a part of me truly felt that DUET IN BLOOD

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he couldn’t wait to see me again—he’d said so, for crying out loud. He’d sounded so happy to be coming back.

I felt my eyes well up with tears…

Oh, Joseph…where the hell are you? How could this have happened? Please, if you’re alive,
please find a way to let me know. I love you, Joseph. I love you.

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Joseph

I lay helpless in the cell into which they had thrown me, the silver chains they had used to bind me, chaffing my skin. They knew ordinary chains would not hold me. Not now, after those who had saved me from them had made my vampire blood stronger than ever before.

Still, their cunning had been formidable. I thought them long dead—incinerated in the conflagration Marcus had brought upon their heads those long years ago.

Somehow, some had survived, and revenge was now uppermost in their twisted minds.

At first, I had expected their vile practises to be immediately inflicted upon me, but so far, even after several days, I had not been violated. It was not me they wanted this time—not really. I was merely a hostage, the bait in a trap to ensnare my dearest friend—Marcus Verano. They knew he would not rest until he had found me, no matter how long it took.

They played their game well, these practitioners of the Dark Arts, these vile and ugly wizards who had been our enemies for centuries.

Here, in this dark cell, they had cut off any mental communication I might have used to warn Marcus of the trap they were setting. They had erected a barrier carved from their demonic black magic that even Marcus’ powers could not penetrate. I knew if he was scanning for me, he would find nothing remotely resembling my brain patterns. His searching would be fruitless—until they were ready for him. Then, and only then, would they allow him the knowledge that would lead to his capture and ultimate death.

For days, I had sent out warnings, even though I knew the barrier would fry any

thought waves that tried to pass through. Then the inconceivable happened. I heard a voice, or rather, a thought, penetrate the barrier.

“I love you, Joseph. I love you.”

My whole body stiffened with shock. Micah. It was Micah’s voice I’d heard inside my head. Was I hallucinating? Had my longing for him finally unhinged my mind? For there it was, as clear as a bell, his voice, trembling and unsure, but filled with emotion…with love.

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“Micah!” My shout filled the cell with echoes, reverberating around the walls as though his name had taken wings and would escape the dank and dismal walls that contained me.

“Micah…” The gods knew how much I missed him, had yearned for him each day we had been apart. But my present captivity and the fact that the wizards still existed made me realise that my relationship with Micah could never be. How could I introduce him to a world filled with devilish monsters? Was it not bad enough that one day I would have to reveal my true nature to him? Even if he could get over the shock of what I am, how could I endanger his life along with my own? No, if I survived this, whatever the outcome might be, I would have to give up any thoughts of sharing a future with Micah.

The door to my cell swung open, and a tall and beautiful young man entered. His face and body had not changed over the years, for he had been kept young by the blood of vampires, victims of the wizards who now slithered in the darkness behind him, chuckling softly at my expression of amazement.

“Angelo…”

“Hello, Joseph.” Only then, as a wolfish smile appeared on his face, could I see that he had indeed changed. Gone was the innocent boy I had once known and loved. Now, his eyes glowed with a preternatural cunning, and the teeth that showed behind his lips were no longer lovely, but sharp and fang-like.

“Angelo, what have they done to you?”

“They have given me the power I always craved,” he replied, crossing my cell to look down at me. “They have made me like you, Joseph.” He knelt by my side. His hand caressed my face then slid down to stroke my chest and abdomen. “Do you remember when I would come to you to bring you comfort?” he whispered, close to my ear.

My body shuddered at his touch. Not with the desire with which he had once inflamed me, but with revulsion at what he had become.

“You’re not like me, Angelo,” I said quietly, staring into his burning eyes. “What they touch is always corrupted. I might be a vampire and, as such, looked on with fear and horror by many, but the followers of Marcus Verano’s beliefs do not engage in the practise of evil.”