Forbidden (11 page)

Transylvania, Louisiana

The sign grabbed Roc's attention.
Transylvania, huh?

Of course, the real Transylvania was in Europe some place. But he also knew the vampires he'd met and killed loved irony. They might enjoy living in such a place. It wouldn't hurt to take a look around.

Raw gut instinct guided him off the highway. Or maybe his instinct had flipped out like a GPS system gone berserk. The journey he'd been on the last few months had certainly made him feel like he'd lost his compass reading. Or his mind.

Still, he took Highway 65 toward the remote town of Transylvania. Maybe it was simply a diversion for vampire freaks. Or a trap set by vampires to lure in gullible idiots who'd read too much King, Rice, or Koontz. Or maybe this little detour would give him some kind of a lead. Because once he reached New Orleans, he wasn't sure what he was going to do or how he was going to find a pregnant Amish widow.

He remembered Rachel's blue eyes staring at him unblinking in his dreams…or nightmares. Was she already dead? Laying in some field, half-covered by the new growth of summer, her flesh rotting in the heat?

Or had she been changed? Had Akiva changed her out of spite toward Hannah? Was her skin cold to the touch, those eyes darkened to the color of midnight, the real life-light snuffed out of her? Would Roc then be forced to kill her too?

There were many possibilities. But Roberto's belief kept Roc pressing the gas pedal toward the floorboard. If Akiva held her captive, alive and not yet changed, frightened, alone, and desperate, Roc had to rescue her.
Did
she
know
what
Akiva
was? Did she know death would be better than what the monster might have in mind for her? Or her baby?

From an easy distance, he spotted Transylvania's water tower, where a bat had been painted on the round vessel's side.
So
it
wasn't some imagined place out of the convoluted spaces of his mind.
This town had a warped sense of humor and obviously invited curious tourists…or trapped them. Maybe they even had a connection to the underworld of the bloods. Roc reached over and placed a hand on the hilt of the stake, which lay across the passenger seat, the wicked point stained with layers of blood.

As he came into town, if you could use that word accurately, he slowed his Mustang and looked around the flat plains with few trees to break up the monotony. It looked deserted, as if the citizens had moved on down the road, and their houses had gone after them. He passed a post office and general store, which boasted “See our bat and Dracula tee shirts.”

He figured he should move on too, but he pulled up next to the general store, a red-bricked building, flat and boring. It looked like it had been built on a tight budget back in the 1970s. A blue post-office box sat out front.

Roc strolled inside the general store. A musty odor greeted him, and he walked among the dusty, tasteless items of rubbery bats and plastic teeth. It didn't look as if they were doing a booming business here in Transylvania. Maybe they hadn't heard of the latest vampire crazes, with glittery vampires more friend than foe, or the TV variety with sexy, Southern accents.

“What can I do for ya?” The male voice came from the back, and the thick accent reminded Roc he was definitely back in Louisiana.

Roc's arm flexed, bumping up against his Glock in a reflexive move that gave him comfort as he turned. “Get much traffic this way?”

“Not too much.” An older man lumbered toward him. He wore faded blue overalls no longer capable of buttoning along his wide sides. Beneath the straps, his T-shirt might once have been white but hadn't seen Clorox in ages. His tennis shoes had lost their laces. But Roc focused on the eyes. Hazel. Not black. The man's teeth had gone the way of the citizens and obviously weren't about to take a bite out of him. “You into vampires, son?”

“Into them?” Roc had a definite déjà vu feeling about this particular conversation. But he thought of the stake stuck in the back of his jeans and hidden under his jacket. “Sometimes. You ever have paranormal stuff happen around here?”

“Whatcha mean?” The man's Louisiana accent was as thick as the dust lining the shelves. “Aliens? Ghosts?”

Roc nodded. “Or the like.”

“Here tell there was a ghost 'round these parts.” His thick tongue slapped at his dry lips. “Now I ain't ne'er seen it or nothin' just heard the stories. You a ghost hunter?” He arched his back, and his belly jutted forward. “You from that ghost-hunter TV show or something?”

“I prefer vampires.”

“That's what we get here most often, but not too often.” He scratched his rounded belly.

“You get vampires, or folks that like 'em?”

The man grinned, showing his pink gums. “That's a good one.” And he kept chuckling like he hadn't heard a good joke in a month of Sundays.

“I'm actually looking for a fella.” Roc adopted the man's accent in the way he'd learned to make people feel comfortable around him and confide in him. “He's got a pregnant woman with him. You seen somebody like that 'round here?”

“Not any time soon. Fact is, I ain't had no visitors this entire month.”

Hope deflated inside Roc. So this had been a wasted stop. “Well, nice talkin' to you, then.”

“Sure I can't sell ya a bat or something?”

“Not today. Thanks.” Then he saw a black T-shirt. Across the front in white letters shaped like teeth, it said “Got bite?” with a trail of blood dripping down to the hem.

“You have this in a large?” Roc asked.

From high above in the rafters of the warehouse, Akiva watched Orphelia approach Rachel. He recognized the look, knew its deadly intent, saw in the depths of her eyes the burning hunger.

He swooped downward, arcing and swerving over the shelves and boxes, swooshing over Rachel's head, his body unfolding, shifting, and changing, joints popping back into place, muscles and sinews stretching, until he landed on his two solid feet in front of Orphelia. “Get out!”

The older woman stopped her advance on Rachel midstride and drew up, lifting her bosom with her forearms and challenging Akiva with her own solid stare. “I came to give you a message.”

Panic shot into his veins and charged through him. A message meant purpose. This was no coincidence. “How did you find me?”

She gave a deep-throated chuckle. “I followed you. It was not so difficult.” She slid her hands along her wide frame. “You think old Orphelia can't get around so good cause I
look
old. But you don't know old. And I still have lots of ways to get around.” She glanced upward at the rafters from where he'd flown. “As you do.”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go to for a message.”

She leaned forward, her unusual odor filling his nostrils with lilies and citrus and blood. “It is an important one.”

Akiva crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Behind him, Rachel's shallow breathing, her heart fluttering in her chest, and her blood coursing through her veins distracted him. Thankfully, his appetite was sated. But what about Orphelia?

She tugged at the flowing material covering her arms and readjusted the scarf around her neck, taking her time as if she had all the time in the world. “
He
sent for you.”

“Oooh! Let's hurry, then,” Akiva said, his words mocking. But his stance remained firm, unmoving.

“You are a fool, Akiva.”

“For not knowing who ‘he' is? Or for not caring?”

“Of course you don't know. You are ignorant of so much.”

Her words rankled him.

“You never bothered to learn about us, and you have missed out on so much. So much knowledge. Even now you are wondering how I followed you, how I could know where you are hiding. Still, I will tell you of your ignorance.

“Giovanni.” She whispered the name reverently. “He is our leader. It is a great honor to be summoned by him. Either that or”—her features crumpled, her brow folding downward—“the most terrible.”

“Giovanni, huh? Why doesn't he just come here if he wants to speak to me?”

Her chin jutted backward, and she stared at him for a long moment, as if he'd started babbling nonsense. “Giovanni goes nowhere. Especially not to a place like”—her gaze darted around the shabby hallway—“this.”

“Well, I can't go see him. So take a message back to his highness and—”

“You cannot refuse him.” Her dark face went slack. “To refuse is…no one refuses Giovanni.”

“Sure I can.” He turned and faced Rachel, bracketed her shoulders with his hands.

But Orphelia spoke again. “I will not give him that message.”

He shrugged and nudged Rachel to move back away from Orphelia. He would take her on a different route through another part of the warehouse and back to her room, then he'd have to figure out another hideout. At least one vampire now knew where they were, so Rachel would not be safe. He had to move her, keep her safe. At least until her baby was born. Then, her welfare mattered not at all.

“You cannot anger Giovanni,” Orphelia warned. “It is not allowed.”

Her words acted like a spike clean through Akiva's heart.
Who
cared
about
angering
Giovanni?
Who
showed
so
much
as
a
cat's hair concern about angering Akiva?
Resentful at once again being on the outskirts and not mattering, he swung around, his hands fisted. “I don't care if this Giovanni blows a gasket! No one cared about pissing me off. No one cared to ask if
I
wanted this life. Whoever-the-hell-he-is matters nothing to me. Tell
him
that!”

Her eyes widened with horror. “That is a death sentence.”

“Good. Bring him on. Let's have it out. Right here.” He took a threatening step toward her. “Now.”

“So it is true, then? This is what you want with the pregnant woman?”

“It's none of your business what I want or do.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, but it is. It truly is. Or at least Giovanni's business. He is in charge of this region. You must see him. You must speak to him.” Her gaze shifted toward Rachel, who stood slightly behind him still. “Before…you do anything reckless.”

“I am not afraid of him.”

“You should be.” She flicked her wrist. “It is not my concern if you want to die. Maybe you do. And maybe Giovanni will be the one to kill you. But believe you me, he can make you suffer first. He can make you beg to die.”

But Akiva had already pleaded more ways than Sunday for death. And he would, one way or another, die.

Orphelia glanced toward Rachel. “You are afraid to leave her alone. Yes, of course. I understand. You do not trust even yourself with her. Why then me? Or another? But if I promise to bring someone to watch her…someone who will not harm her…will you go and see Giovanni with me?”

“Whom would I trust? You?” His nostrils flared with defiance.

“Acacia. She is young. She will do what she is told. She will not harm the pregnant woman.”

Akiva wrestled for a moment with his thoughts and reasons. If he refused, then he'd be back on the run for at least another six weeks. If he took the chance, then he could confront Giovanni and maybe end his nightmare for good. Or buy himself enough freedom to end it himself in a few weeks.

What continuously stabbed at him were Orphelia's words: “‘You are ignorant.'” He'd fought ignorance his entire life. He'd tried to educate himself beyond the picket fences and green shades of his Amish upbringing. But had he been as she said? A fool?

“All right,” he finally said. “Bring Acacia here. But if anything happens to Rachel, it will be you who will suffer.”

“Acacia will not harm the woman,” Orphelia's solemn nod made her jowls tremble. “Of this I know for certain.”

Roc drove past St. Joe's three times but could not bring himself to visit his childhood friend and the church the priest served.
What
would
he
say
to
Anthony
now?
“You were right about creatures that go bite in the night?” No way. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Deciding he could more readily tuck tail and go to his ex-partner for help, Roc crossed New Orleans, snaking through traffic from the Garden District to Lake Pontchartrain. He hadn't been in contact with Brody since the NOPD had cut Roc loose six months ago from the investigation of the murdered trick-or-treater. Roc had taken the investigation to Pennsylvania as a favor to Brody, because the murder resembled not only Emma's but also disappearances up North. When Roc had tried to explain over the phone what was going on, Brody had accused him of drinking and cut off the money supply.

Now, he caught his ex-partner in the parking lot of his apartment complex, and Brody glared through his mirrorlike aviator sunglasses. “You still drinking?”

“No,” Roc said.

“You need money, then?”

“Can we talk?”

“How much?” Brody reached for his hip pocket.

“I need a favor, not money.”

Brody's arms were crossed over his thickly muscled chest. “So what is it this time?”

Roc glanced over at a couple getting out of their car. “This isn't the place.”

Brody rolled his lips inward and finally gave a nod toward his apartment, leading Roc out of the Louisiana heat. “You've got five minutes.”

Once inside the apartment, Roc explained in sparse terms about Rachel's disappearance.

“You got nothing more than that to go on?”

Roc shook his head at the beer Brody offered, obviously a test, and leaned back in Brody's recliner, gripping the armrests.

Brody still carried his car keys in his hand, as if eager to be on the road and off to wherever he was headed. But first, Roc had to discuss Akiva and Rachel. He needed direction. He needed help. “That's the straight and narrow.”

“It's like finding a needle in—”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Roc stared at his own reflection in Brody's shades, which the cop hadn't bothered to remove. He imagined what this looked like to Brody. An ex-cop, drunk, hanging onto the bottom rung. Brody jangled his keys, a sign this conversation wouldn't be long. “You in a hurry?” Roc asked.

“As a matter of fact.” Brody pointed toward the door the jagged edge of a key.

Maybe Roc should have taken the beer. At least it would have bought him a few extra minutes. Reluctantly, he pushed up from the chair where he'd given Brody a scant overview of Rachel's situation, minus blood-sucking vampires. Not every detail was worth mentioning. Disappointment weighed on him. He needed Brody's thoughts on where to go, what to do. He should know himself, but he felt confused and stymied with fear that he'd already cost Rachel her life. Maybe he should have stayed in Pennsylvania instead of heading to New Orleans, following what he'd decided was his father's advice from the great beyond. He'd kept that embarrassing detail from Brody too.

A whiff of cologne caught Roc's attention as he walked toward his ex-partner. Brody was dressed in starched jeans, nice boots, and wore a loose jacket, as any detective would in order to hide what he was carrying in a shoulder holster. “You got a hot date?”

“Something like that.”

“What's her name?”

“Focus, Roc.” Brody opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunlight. “Why would this Akiva take a pregnant Amish widow? Were they lovers?”

“Maybe. He grew up Amish. Loved Rachel's sister, but Hannah rejected him. The motive may be revenge. This Akiva is dangerous.” Roc descended the steps, the metal banister warm against his palm. Sunlight sparkled off the blue pool water in the middle of a courtyard. He turned and waited for Brody, who had locked the door. His ex-partner was shorter and stockier than Roc. “Look, I didn't want this case. Hannah and her husband, Levi, came to me. Desperate for help.”

“Obviously.” Brody headed back toward the parking lot. “With a name like Akiva, how hard could it be to find him?”

A splash and girlish squeal behind him made Roc turn toward the pool. “No listings for Akiva, phone, address, anything. It's as if he doesn't exist.”

“Maybe he doesn't. Or doesn't want to. What made you think he brought Rachel to New Orleans?”

How could he explain his own father…or ghost…or phantom of his imagination had set him on this course? His gaze slid over the bronzed bodies lying around the pool and the couple frolicking in the water, splashing and kissing. “He's been living here for a couple of years. Likes the dark side, if you know what I mean.”

“Dark side? You mean dealers, gangs, what?”

“Voodoo.”

Brody grunted and walked around the edge of the pool and out the side gate. “And it gets more interesting. You think she's to be a sacrifice or something?”

A chill ran through him at the memory of Roberto's suspicion of what Akiva had in mind for Rachel and her baby. “Something like that.”

“Didn't know those voodoo hoodies still did that. I mean, I've heard rumors about the old days, but nothing to make me think they do much beyond dance around in the moonlight, high on weed.”

“Might be worth a look-see. You know where the lowdown is?”

“Haven't had any cases in that area lately.” He stopped beside his black decked-out Chevy truck. With his hands stuck in his front pockets, Brody offered a slight shrug. “But I'll ask around for you. Other than that, Roc, that's all I can do. You're on your own.”