Sex and the Single Vampire (15 page)

“Don’t tell me—Guarda White and Signor Tassa-whatever were at the house.”

He looked thoughtful. “No, but it was leased by Mrs. White’s trust.”

He was silent for a few minutes until I nudged him with my elbow. “So? Was Sebastian there or not?”

The ARMPITs moved off. Christian’s finger stopped rubbing circles on the back of my hand. “He had been there. He left a message for me, a message that indicated he was being held prisoner and had little hope of gathering enough strength to escape.”

“A message? What sort of a message?”

His mouth looked grim. I chanced a glance up to his eyes and quickly looked away. I hoped that whatever else happened in my life, Christian never had cause to look at me like that. “It was a message written in the manner of the Dark Ones.”

I swallowed back a lump. “A message written in blood?”

He nodded. “Protected to keep it from the eyes of everyone but the person for whom it was intended. In this instance, me. Sebastian knew I would search for him once I realized he was missing, and although he was weak and had little strength, he used up a precious amount of his blood to leave me the message.”

I thought about that for a minute as I watched the last few stragglers meet up with the assistants. People throughout the theater were talking in low, hushed voices that echoed like soft little brushes of a bird’s wing against the high ceiling. “Um, I may regret asking this, but I’ve felt the power that flows through you. How do you hold a Dark One prisoner against his will?”

His eyes turned a flat, lifeless black. “There are ways.”

I shivered at the bleakness of his voice and decided not to pursue that particular avenue of thought. “Okay, so you think that Guarda and Eduardo are holding Sebastian prisoner somewhere, and you’d like me to get chummy with them so I can find out where. What makes you think I’m the least bit inclined to help you?”

His eyes positively caressed my face. My body melted at that look. “I have few resources available to me here. It was my hope that I could appeal to your curiosity and your desire to help those who are unable to help themselves.”

I raised my chin. “That sounds like quite a different description than independent, stubborn, and lacking in self-confidence. Give me one good reason why I should help you.”

His eyes never wavered from mine. “Because I am asking you most humbly for your assistance in locating my friend.”

My innards melted even more at the sincerity and hope in his voice. I told my guts to get a grip on themselves and thought about it. Helping Christian wasn’t in my game plan. I had only three weeks in London, and already five
days had passed. If I got involved in this weird trust thing, it would severely cut into my time trying to Summon more ghosts. On the other hand, it would be good research to present to UPRA, and might go far toward keeping me employed. I glanced at Christian as I gnawed on my lip and, with an internal sigh, admitted the truth that it wasn’t for job security, or even for Christian’s helpless friend that I would accept his request; it was for him and him alone.

“All right, I’ll help you, but I have a few conditions.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why did I know there would be conditions?”

I grinned at him. “Because you’re a bright boy, despite all that macho posturing. Condition one: You have to lighten up a bit. No more of this ordering me around. I don’t
take
orders, I
consider
requests.”

His martyred look returned; his jaw was so tight it didn’t seem to want to move when he spoke. “It will be difficult, what you ask, but I will make an effort to temper my natural tendency to express my desires in the form of orders. Will that suffice?”

“Barely, but I’ll accept it. Condition number two: No more wisecracks about my clothes.”

“Agreed.”

“Condition number three—”

“How many conditions are there to be?” he interrupted.

“This is the last one. Condition number three: You have to stop peeking into my mind.”

He looked startled.

“Oh, don’t give me that look; I can feel you hanging around the edges of my thoughts. And you smile when I think about you being—” I stopped. He was smiling now. “Since I know my guards are good and strong, it means you’re pulling some weird Vulcan mind trick on me.”

“Not Vulcan, Moravian.”

“Aha! You admit it!”

“I admit nothing. If there is a sympathetic connection between us, it is nothing of my doing.”

I looked at him suspiciously. He looked me dead in the eye. I couldn’t see any signs that he was lying, and I’m a pretty good judge of that. “Well, okay,” I said grudgingly. “But you just make sure you stay out of my mind unless I invite you in!”

His thumb commenced back-of-hand rubbing. Three more people trooped down the aisle, but judging from their matching black T-shirts, they were all ARMPITs.

“You have to explain a few more things to me, too. For one, I don’t understand why people interested in proving the existence of ghosts would keep a vampire prisoner. I mean, it’s like apples and oranges.”

“You are operating under the assumption that the goals of the trust are as Guarda stated. In reality, I believe it has a much more sinister purpose.”

“Really? What would that be?” I asked.

“Allegra Telford? You have been chosen. Would you come to the stage, please? Steve Ricks, you have been chosen; please come to the stage. Arundel Roget, please come to the stage.”

The list of people called to the stage continued as the miniskirted woman trotted up to Christian for a bit of praise and to shoo me toward the stage. I half expected her to beg to be petted, then decided that was too catty a comment for even me to be thinking, and surreptitiously sketched a protection ward on her as penance.

Christian stood to let me pass, pressing my hand in a manner that more gave strength than asked for help. I gave in and squeezed his in return, more than a little reassured by the warm solidness of his presence.

I shook off the odd sense of reliability that his touch had inspired, and followed the miniskirt to the stage, where I was handed a piece of colored chalk.

“No, thanks, I have my own,” I said, pulling out the chalk that, with the dead man’s ash, I’d made a habit of keeping on me while I was in a city filled to the brim with historic sites, and even more historic ghosts.

I was pointed to a chair. I walked across the stage, neck-pricklingly aware that someone was watching me intently. I glanced to the side and saw that Guarda had me in her sights as she spoke to one of her flunkies. I gave her a weak little grin and took my seat. A short, balding man with a serious perspiration problem took the seat to my left, while a young, cocky woman with a thick cap of curly blond hair sat on my right.

“I’m Diane,” she said, introducing herself. I shook her hand, told her my name, and turned to the man on my left.

“Peter Dunwich.” He had a soggy hand, but I managed not to let him see me wipe it off on my pants. I fervently hoped Guarda wasn’t the type who liked to form circles made with physical contact between the participants. Holding Peter’s hand did not promise to be a pleasant experience.

Guarda and the tall, olive-skinned man she’d introduced as Eduardo joined the table. The lights clicked off in the theater, leaving only the one spotlight on us.

“Showtime,” I murmured, then took a deep breath and focused my attention on calming myself and preparing for the ritual of Summoning.

Guarda looked around the table slowly, eyeing each of us intently before she spoke. I blessed my dark glasses as she studied me, since they allowed me to present an unintimidated and tranquil expression.

At last she clasped her hands in front of her and addressed the table, her voice picked up by one of the six microphones scattered around the table. Lights clicked on as three women and a man in ARMPIT T-shirts fired up their digital video cameras, all trained on us. “As you probably know, we chose this building because of its unusual spiritual activity. There have been at least six separate entities identified here. Three have already been Summoned. Three remain. Usually we begin the circle by clasping hands and combining our power to bring forth any spirits who might be residing in this building, but as we have two experienced Summoners with us tonight, I believe we will instead work individually. We will start with a supplication to the spirits. If you all will please place your hands flat on the table, your fingers touching those of the person on either side of you, we will begin.”

I’ve always thought the supplication was a bit of nonsense, a silly, showy bit of fluff that impresses the uninformed, but serves no real purpose to Summoners. Still, it was better to just have the tip of my little finger touching Peter’s rather than having to hold his entire hand, so I spread my hands out in front of me, joining them with Peter’s and Diane’s. Guarda went through the supplication while I tried to get a feel for the building we were in,
opening myself up to any of the three spirits who remained. I caught a faint impression of one very close, in the theater itself, but no others. I tried to focus on the spirit, but couldn’t do more than pinpoint the location to a small room behind the stage.

“As Allegra and Steve are the experienced Summoners, perhaps they would care to take the first circles, and allow the rest of us to watch and learn from them.”

It was an order, not a question, with Guarda’s pale blue eyes resting on me in something very like a challenge. An odd wave of hostility rose in me in response, an emotion I quickly squelched. There’s no room for any negative thoughts when you are trying to Summon a ghost.

Steve, a young man in a black turtleneck and pants who in no way came close to achieving the dashing figure that Christian had made wearing a similar outfit the previous evening, chose to make his circle right there at the table. I was uncomfortable being the focus of so much attention, so I walked over to the dimly lit far side of the stage until I found a spot I liked. I sat down, cleared my mind, ignored the couple of volunteers and two of the camerapeople who’d followed me, and, using my piece of chalk, made a circle.

The actual Summoning procedure was the same as the other times I’d performed it, but this time I had barely spoken the words over the ash when the air in the circle started to thicken and move in an agitated way. I waited, my mind focused on the spirit I’d felt in the back room, willing it to come forward. The shimmering started to die away.

“Oooh,” someone directly behind me breathed in disappointment. She was quickly shushed, but the damage had been done. My concentration was broken. I rubbed out a bit of the chalk, breaking the circle, and looked over to where Guarda sat at the table.

“I’m going to give this another shot. I don’t need to have absolute silence, but I’d appreciate it if everyone kept from breathing down my neck.”

A small woman with a birthmark on her forehead made a grimace. “I’m terribly sorry. It was so exciting there for a minute, I thought you were going to do it. I promise I’ll be quiet.”

I smiled at her, then glanced out at the audience, but couldn’t see anything between the combination of the darkened house and my glasses. I took a deep breath, cleared my mind, drew the circle, made the wards, and intoned the words over the ash.

Bits of it drifted on the currents of air on the stage, some floating to land on a man who sat on the other side of my circle, other bits floating toward me (it
always
seemed to float straight for my nose). The air started shimmering again, thickening and twisting around itself as if it was trying to form. Suddenly my nose twitched and I sneezed. Twice.

“Wooo-hooo!” The birthmarked woman leaped up and shouted, pointing at my circle. I stared up, stunned by what I saw. Standing in the circle was not one, but two ghosts. One was a small, unhappy-looking young man in black breeches and a dirty cream-colored shirt with a black coat cut in eighteenth-century fashion, wearing a dingy powdered wig; the other was a really ugly old white-haired woman, her face crumpled up like an ancient apple gone bad. She had on a tight, shiny black floor-length dress and apron that emphasized every bulge and protuberance, and there were a
lot
of protuberances.

“Glory hallelujah,” I said softly.

“Amen,” someone said behind me. I stood and looked at my ghosts. Two! I’d Summoned two! By …
sneezing?

“This is amazing, absolutely amazing,” Guarda said as she hurried over to my side, walking around the circle as
she examined the ghosts. “I have never seen two spirits Summoned at once. I have never even heard of such a feat! This will go down as a momentous day in the history of psychical studies!”

I rubbed my nose, feeling it tickle again. There was no need to show off and Summon a third spirit.

“You must ground them quickly, so we might take readings and ask them questions.” Eduardo pushed his way past a couple of people and eyed the ghosts critically. I got a bit annoyed at that. They were
my
ghosts; I wasn’t going to put them on display for anyone. I didn’t mind people taking a few readings, but I was not going to have them treated like freaks at a freak show. I’d Release them just as soon as the readings were taken.

Somewhat reluctantly I grounded them. As soon as the last word left my lips, the old woman started in with a harangue, shaking her finger at me and complaining in an annoyingly scratchy voice.

“What’s she saying?” I asked Peter, standing next to me.

He scratched his bald spot. “I’m not sure. I think it’s Welsh.”

“Welsh? Whatever would a Welshwoman be doing in this building? How old is it, anyway?”

“Approximately two hundred and fifty years old,” Eduardo answered as he scooped his hand through the sour old woman. She turned on him and gave him the rough side of her tongue. Although she had no physical presence, just her appearance and demeanor were enough to make him back up a couple of steps.

I stifled a snicker.

“What is your name?” Guarda asked the young man’s spirit. I looked closer at him. His face was marked by pimples, and his clothes had a hand-me-down look about them. His powdered wig, once probably white but now
stained yellow and rust with age and who knew what, didn’t quite fit his head, listing to the left and leaving a swatch of black hair uncovered.