Getting What You Want (25 page)

Vittorio didn’t respond to his brother, instead he scanned the room. “Is Erika here?”

“Erika?” Jo said. “No. Isn’t she getting ready?”

Vittorio shook his head. “No. She hadn’t come back from the gallery.” At least he didn’t think so. Damned his unnatural sleep.

“She must have gotten hung up there with something. Did you try her cell phone?” Ren said.

Vittorio nodded. “No answer.”

“That phone of hers,” Jo said. “It only works half the time.”

“Hey, Vittorio,” Maggie greeted as she came down the stairs in a red dress with a plunging neckline and black high heels. “You look snazzy.”

Again Vittorio didn’t respond, nor did he acknowledge her compliment on the suit he wore. Instead he asked, knowing it would be in vain, “Have you heard from Erika?”

“No,” Maggie said, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. “She said she wanted to get back from the gallery early so she’d have plenty of time to get ready.”

Vittorio nodded. “That’s what she told me too.”

“Well, she has to be at the gallery,” Ren said, giving him a reassuring look. “Let’s just go there and see if we can help her out.”

“These things do always take longer than you think,” Maggie said, also giving Vittorio a calming smile.

Vittorio nodded. “Let’s go then.”

“Wait,” Jo said. “Let’s get her dress and stuff and bring it with us. She’s going to be upset if she’s late because she still has to get dressed.”

“Good thinking,” Maggie agreed. “She’ll want to look perfect.”

“P
erfect.”

The smug voice managed to reach Erika through the blurry fog that seemed to fill her head. She tried to sit up, her first instinct to escape the strange, muzzy feeling. But she couldn’t seem to move.

You’re having another nightmare.

But this didn’t seem quite the same. She tried to move again, but something seemed to be restraining her.

“Don’t bother to struggle,” the voice said, again reaching her through the fuzzy darkness. The voice was familiar, and she tried to remember if it was from the other nightmares, but she just couldn’t be sure.

So she let herself drift for a few moments, maybe hours, she really had no idea. No, this wasn’t like the other nightmares. There was nothing chasing her, no impending feeling of doom, no blinding fear. Just heavy blackness.

She remained still for a few more seconds, or maybe longer. Time was as hazy as her inky surroundings. Then she attempted to open her eyes, this time managing to peel her lids open.

She blinked, still feeling dazed and bleary. But slowly her surroundings came into focus. Not that her slowly returning vision gave her any more sense of her location. Nothing looked familiar. The walls were in shades of gray, then she realized they were bare stone. The light overhead was a bare bulb hanging from a black electrical cord. And she lay on a table, her hands bound and pulled over her head.

Where was she? Panic that reminded her of her previous nightmares swelled upward in her stomach. This had to be a nightmare. Didn’t it?

She tried to pull at the bonds holding her, but they didn’t budge. She struggled, only to realize her ankles were similarly bound.

“I told you to stop struggling. Aosoth doesn’t like her sacrifices injured until she is summoned and allowed to enjoy it—just a little—before the actual killing.”

Erika craned her neck, trying to see who was speaking, but the restraints at her ankles and wrists allowed her very little movement. It was definitely a female, although Erika couldn’t quite place her.

“Who are you?” she demanded, trying to sound less frightened than she felt.

“Oh, silly girl, you must know who I am.” The speaker came into view from Erika’s left, her first impressions blond hair and flowing dress.

“Isabel?”

The blonde smiled, not the sweet smiles of their past meetings. No, this time the malevolence Erika had thought she’d glimpsed beneath the surface of Isabel’s ethereal beauty was on her face, so clear and intense, it was hard to imagine Erika hadn’t seen it all along.

“I’d think you’d know me by now,” Isabel said, her lips curling into a cruel twist. “After all, you have seen all of me for a couple of weeks now.”

Obviously she hadn’t. Or not as clearly as she should have, because Erika got the distinct impression this was the real Isabel.

Erika tugged at the restraints holding her wrists. The tightly lashed cords didn’t give, except to dig into the already tender skin of her wrists.

“I did warn you about marring yourself. I don’t want Aosoth to be disappointed with my offering.”

“Who is Aosoth? What are you talking about?” Erika was trying desperately not to panic, but she wasn’t doing well. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, which made it difficult to pull in a deep breath.

Isabel sidled closer, that coldly malevolent smile pinned to her lips. “I guess before I explain who Aosoth is, I should probably tell you who I am. You see, my real name isn’t Isabel. It’s Orabella.” She said her name as if it should make some big impact on Erika.

It didn’t.

“Okay,” Erika said. “I don’t really care whether you are named Isabel, Orabella or Svetlana—”
Svetlana?
Where had she gotten that? “I just want to know why you have me strapped to this table.”

Isabel’s, or rather Orabella’s eyes narrowed and a muscle in her jaw ticked. “You will care who I am.” She started to move slowly around the table.

Erika started to open her mouth to ask yet again why she was here, but the blonde’s next words stopped her.

“So Vittorio didn’t tell you about me.”

Vittorio knew this nutjob?

Isa—Orabella paced around the table, her eyes focused somewhere faraway. Then she stopped down by Erika’s feet, and smiled nastily.

“Well, he wouldn’t mention me, would he? Why would he even bother trying to make you understand the relationship we have? Clearly you couldn’t.”

Erika stared at the woman. Was this the woman from Vittorio’s past that Philippe told her about? Of course it was. And very obviously, she was crazy.

“Isa—Orabella, Vittorio is no longer interested in you,” she said.

Hard, cold eyes, black, with hatred, pinned her, and Erika questioned her strategy. Ticking off this woman wasn’t going to help her cause here.

“He wouldn’t tell you about me because I’m so far beyond your understanding. What we share a mere mortal couldn’t begin to comprehend.”

Erika frowned. Mere mortal. This woman was utterly nuts, a realization that didn’t give her any comfort. Instead her panic rose.

“What is doing this going to prove to Vittorio?”

“It’s going to prove my love. It’s going to prove that I only ever wanted to make him happy. And,” she said as she touched Erika’s leg just below the knee, “I’m going to show him I can give him everything he could ever want or need.”

Erika tried to jerk away from the brush of her fingers moving slowly upward.

“And how are you planning to do that? By keeping me here tied to a table?”

Orabella giggled. “Oh no, that wouldn’t show him anything but how easy it is to capture a human. Not exciting enough.”

“So what do you plan to do?” Erika wasn’t sure she really wanted to hear what this nut had planned.

“I’m going to sacrifice you, and give Vittorio back the sun. Killing two birds with one stone. Or rather killing one bird and getting exactly what I want. My beloved Vittorio.” Orabella giggled. “Isn’t that clever of me?”

Erika gaped at the woman, not quite believing what she was hearing. This crazy lady intended to sacrifice her? How?

But before she could ask yet another question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to, Orabella began to move around the table again, this time chanting in a low singsong mumbling, words Erika didn’t understand.

She thrashed against the cords binding her, feeling the unforgiving ropes bite and burn her flesh. Dear God, she had to get out of here.

This woman really intended to kill her.

Maksim lay in the center of the king-size bed, staring at the ceiling like he’d done for days. He’d always loved lounging in a comfy bed for hours with no need to go anywhere, but there were two other things he loved which he didn’t realize until this moment. He did enjoy leaving the bed eventually, and while he didn’t need to eat to survive, he liked to eat. Maybe more than lounging in a bed all day. Alone.

Growling, he rolled over onto his stomach, that position no more comfortable than the one before, or the one before that. Which led to another thing he’d learned in the past days—even a comfy bed got uncomfortable eventually.

He punched the pillow, then dropped his head onto the fluffed feathers. This was hell. And since he was from hell, he certainly knew it when he experienced it.

“This is worse than hell,” he muttered to the empty room. What he wouldn’t give for his portion of hell with all its fire, and molten rock and sweltering heat.

He closed his eyes, trying to will himself back to sleep again, but that wasn’t working either. Even unconsciousness wasn’t an escape.

So instead his mind moved on to his new favorite pastime, thinking of ways he was going to punish Orabella when he finally got free. He liked to play out scenarios that she would find intolerable. Things like forcing her to work for all eternity as a carny, surrounded by the smell of fried food, animals and the unfortunate aftermath of some of the more dizzying amusement rides. Or there was the one where he imagined her as a fishmonger, flinging smelly carps in the broiling sun. Or his personal favorite, the person who empties out the Port-a-Pottys for construction crews.

Oh, he knew his little fantasies were petty, but they did help to pass the time. And made him smile.

He was lost again in the Porta John scenario, when a noise caught his attention. The sound of footfalls coming up the staircase toward his room.

He flipped over onto his back just in time to see a small, middle-aged woman, struggling to carry a large canister vacuum cleaner. She was so focused on the monstrous machine, she didn’t notice him through the partially closed door.

“Excuse me,” he called.

The woman squeaked, dropping the heavy vacuum, the hose curling around her feet.

He levered himself up, plastering a mild, hopefully appealing smile on his face. The last thing he wanted was to scare this woman away. She was the first being, other than his evil undead captor, that he’d seen in two-and-a-half weeks. He had to play it cool—and charming. Which wasn’t exactly easy since he was chomping at the bit to get out of this bed.

“I’m sorry,” he called to the lady, offering her another smile. He levered himself up more, trying to look lazy and charming. Too much charm might unnerve this woman.

“That—that’s okay,” she said, returning his smile with an uncertain one.

He tried to gauge her reaction to him, trying to decide his best course here. He could jump into her head and find out exactly what she was thinking, but for the first time ever, he didn’t want to do that. He didn’t ponder what was stopping him from doing what was so natural to him.

Instead he tried to read her expression. For just the briefest moment her eyes, half hidden behind dark-rimmed glasses, flicked down to his bare chest. Then her cheeks, lined with wrinkles, a testament to the hard work she’d clearly done her whole life, tinged faintly pink. The reaction had been so slight, he was lucky that he’d been watching her, rather than focusing on getting into her head. Because of that insignificant little glance, he knew exactly how to play his hand.

He sat up and stretched, flexing the muscles in his pecs and his shoulders. The woman’s eyes again darted for a split second to his upper body, but she quickly turned her attention to fumbling with the vacuum and the hose.

“I’m sorry to be lazing around like this so late in the day,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. He dropped his arms. “Actually Ms. D’Antoni would be very upset with me for forgetting you were coming to clean today. She reminded me, but it slipped my mind.”

The woman nodded, now looking everywhere but at his bared chest. Not good. His plan to draw her in because of her obvious attraction to him might not work. She could get flustered and run. In fact, the way she was rearranging the vacuum looked as if she intended to pick it back up and move along. He couldn’t have that.

“She’ll be very upset with me if you don’t clean this room,” he said, then smiled sheepishly.

“I will,” the woman assured him.

“Well, maybe it would be best if you started with this one. Perhaps you should start here. Just in case she comes home.” Comes home and stops this woman with her blessed vacuum.

“Okay,” she agreed, although he could tell she wasn’t understanding his urgency on the matter. Of course, the cleaning woman certainly wouldn’t go right to—
oh, you need that pentagram around the bed cleaned up
—now would she?

“I’ll just let you start here, that way if she does come home, the room will be done and she won’t ever guess I was here when you arrived. Our little secret.”

He smiled, turning on the full charm.

She smiled back and nodded, tugging the huge vacuum into the room. The wheels marred the straight line of the iron filings running along the doorway.

He smiled again, then fell back against the pillows, stretching as if he was taking a lazy moment before getting up for the day.

There was some quiet shuffling as she prepared to clean the master bedroom, or his jail cell, as he now considered it.

But not for much longer,
he thought with a small smile at the ceiling he knew better than he ever wanted to know a ceiling again. The vacuum rumbled to life, and he knew he’d finally found the way to make his prison break.

Vittorio tried to keep his pace somewhat in line with the others, but Ren, Maggie and Jo were simply walking too slow. Didn’t they feel the same sense of urgency he did? And something was wrong, he could feel it in every cell of his body, like she was calling out to him, yet he couldn’t quite hear her or sense where she was.

Finally they reached The Broussard. The place was fully lit, and a full color sign announcing the show tonight was propped on an easel beside the doorway, but otherwise things were quiet.

Vittorio tried the door, and it pulled open easily. They stepped into the gallery. The place was silent. They all looked around, trying to see any signs of Erika.

Ren walked over to the center of the room. “I don’t think she’s here.”

“Wait, I hear someone,” Maggie said.

As she said that, a shadow appeared on the wall and Vittorio’s heart leapt with hope. Maybe she was here. But it was an older man with glasses and a neatly trimmed beard who greeted them.

“Good evening. I’m glad you could make it to the show tonight. Although the actual reception doesn’t begin for another half an hour or so. But please feel free to look around.”

Vittorio nodded, eager to just cut him off and ask about Erika. “Yes, we know. We are friends of Erika Todd’s and we are actually looking for her. We thought maybe she was still here getting ready.”

The man shook his head. “No, she left hours ago.”

Cold fear prickled Vittorio’s skin. He glanced over to Ren, who also looked apprehensive.

“She did mention something about getting a call from one of her models. The woman said she needed to see Erika before the show. It sounded a little urgent. Maybe she is still there.”

“Do you know who the woman was?” Vittorio asked.

The man shook his head. “No. But I think I know which model it was. And maybe you can recognize her from the piece.”