The Bite of Silence Page 3

  Before I could clamber back in, the door shut and the lock clicked. Smoke trailed around the edges. I stared, slightly horrified.

  Having a vampire for a boyfriend might be a little more difficult than I thought. I turned and made my way up the brownstone’s stairs.

  ***

  My mother was an African diplomat, my father a famous surgeon. When they settled down to have children they chose my father’s hometown of Meiers Corners, a small city west of Chicago where the beer flowed freely and the school uniform was lederhosen and clogs. Not really, but only because we all kept voting Principal Gustav down.

  Anyway, my parents were internationally recognized people. My brother’s a lieutenant colonel in the Marines, my sister’s a neurosurgeon. I studied art and photography at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago but when I graduated there weren’t that many jobs for a newbie freelancer. My parents were dead by then and I had to earn a living.

  So I drifted back to Meiers Corners where I ended up a glorified secretary for a small-town mayor, the underachiever of the family.

  My cousin Aylmer made up for that.

  Aylmer Tafel lived in an attic and thrived on conspiracy theories. Attic lofts are all the rage now but Aylmer ’s garret was more like a rat’s nest. And nuts? He made Bruno Braun, who runs the survivalist shop Armageddon Three in Meiers Corners, look like a savvy entrepreneur.

  Sherlock Holmes said art in the blood takes strange forms. I think it’s more a matter of degree, like homeopathy. Art is the insanity gene, the only moderator being how much. I had maybe fifty percent. Aylmer was hovering at eighty-nine. But he was mostly self-sufficient and he wasn’t dangerous.

  I pressed the lobby doorbell labeled 7B-Tafel. After a few minutes I pressed it again. I hadn’t called Aylmer with my arrival time but he never left his rooms. He was antisocial to the point that he didn’t even leave to earn a living-he had his work delivered and picked up by express. In fact, the only way I got an invitation was because he owed me big time for getting him an in at a company called Bujný a Zvuk Magie. Don’t ask me to pronounce it.

  Actually, I more invited myself. Aylmer refused at first. But it took a lot for me to get him the job as the American rep for the high-powered Czech company, not your usual dream-job but look who it was for. I had to collect tons of personal favors, tug strings until my fingers were bloody. I thought the least Aylmer could do was put me up for a few nights.

  Still getting no answer, I double-flathanded half a dozen doorbells. Thankfully someone buzzed me in.

  There were two doors on the attic level. One side smelled musty, like stale cigarettes. A pockmarked metal 7A hung on scratched wood. The other door had no number but it reeked of rotting pizza layered with the stench of seriously stinky guy. I pinched my nose and knocked. “Cousin Aylmer? It’s Twyla.”

  A flicker at the peephole presaged the shht of a bolt, three clicking locks and a brrrt of chain. Aylmer popped out, stick in one hand, clunky meter in the other. He was nineteen-fifties très chic in coveralls and tinfoil hat. He shot me furtive glances through blue-tinted lab goggles. “Don’t come any closer. Hands up.”

  I dutifully raised my hands while he waved the stick in front of me. He checked the meter and broke out-well, not smiling. Aylmer never really smiled, not since the night at Grandma Tafel’s cabin in northern Wisconsin when he sleepwalked, came back smelling of skunk and said it was an alien abduction. “Twyla. It is you.”

  “Good to see you too, Aylmer.” I followed him into his apartment.

  He set his ancient equipment on a document box, one of several littering the room. “It’s Van Helsing now.”

  “Abraham? Or do you just go by Van?” I hugged him, awkward with his body odor kicking me in the septum but I made the effort because he was family. He felt light under my fingers, unwell. I held him away from me. He wasn’t looking so good, either. Peaked and scrawny, like he hadn’t been eating. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen? I’ll make some tea, see if there’s any food for an early dinner.” Last I looked at a clock, it was near four.

  I didn’t know where the kitchen was but the place wasn’t that big. I’d have to run into it sooner or later. Besides, there was only one path through the boxes, strewn clothes, and “equipment”.

  In the kitchen Aylmer fished an old tin box from deep within a cabinet. It jangled as he opened it, revealing a snake pit of keys. He stirred a finger into the mess, finally extracting a key ring heavy as a jailer’s. “Here. So you can get in tonight after the New Year’s thing. Although why you’d want to be in the middle of that mass idiocy…don’t wake me, okay? And make sure you relock everything after you’re in. Don’t forget the chain. And get all the bolts. You’re staying only one night, right?”

  “One night?” I dropped the keys into my bag, wincing when something went crack. “Come on, Ayl…I mean Van. I had to call in some major favors to get you clearance. Whatever they do, Bujný a Zvuk Magie is a big international player.” I found a kettle but had to wait for the rusty tap to run clear, so I set it down to hunt tea. “That’s worth at least four nights.”

  He sat at the table and took off his foil hat. “I said thank you.” His face was petulant. “Two.”

  “Three nights and we’re even. What was that job for, anyway? Times Square came up in the conversations several times.”

  His face closed down. “Twyla, I want to tell you. But I can’t.”

  I smiled. Him and his conspiracies. “Because then you’d have to kill me?”

  “No.” He practically snarled it. “Because you wouldn’t believe me. Nobody believes me when I tell them my theories.” He wore a two-year-old’s frustrated pout.

  I found a tea canister I recognized as Aunt Myrtle’s, probably from when Aylmer moved out five years ago (at the age of thirty-seven). “You don’t have to tell me then, Ayl-Van.”

  “But I want to tell somebody. It’s brilliant. I’m a genius.” He glanced furtively around, then ran out of the room. I was at the tap, filling the kettle when he returned with an ominous-looking metal suitcase which he hefted onto the table with a grunt. But when he opened it, it was filled with nothing more sinister than toggles and flashing lights. Still, he was very earnest as he flipped a couple switches, then a couple more. With another furtive recon of the room he motioned me closer. I put my head next to his.

  Even that close I barely heard his whispered, “Vampires are real.”

  No duh. I just had sex with one in a limo on the way from the airport.

  But v-guys were supposed to be this big secret, so I only said, “I see.” After all, Aylmer was just guessing. He couldn’t know. I set the kettle on the stove, turned on the gas. Flames licked bits of burned food, making them flame like charcoal.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  I was careful to keep my face neutral. “Sure I do, Van. Although I was wondering how you figured it out. If you-if we have any proof.”

  “We don’t yet. But we will. I knew I could count on you, Twyla.”

  “Sure.” I busied myself washing out mugs (desiccated spider bodies don’t steep well) wondering how he’d guessed. Just because he was right for once didn’t mean he was any less crazy. “Count on me how?”

  “I came up with a plan. A brilliant plan. See, vampires are natural predators. Appeal to their predatory instincts and they’ll come out of the woodwork. We get it on film, instant proof.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  He snorted. “And they say you’re the smart one. C’mon, Twyla. What’s a vampire’s prey? People. And what city has the most people?”

  “ New York.” I saw where this might be headed, and didn’t like it.

  “Exactly. And what’s the biggest outdoor event?”

  I really didn’t like where this was going. “The Super Bowl?”

  “At night, dork.”

  And wrong city, but that wasn’t my point. “Vampires aren’t only awake at night-”

  “Who’s the expert here?” He eyed m
e suspiciously. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.”

  He really meant I wasn’t taking him seriously enough. I set a mug of chamomile in front of him, dunked the bag to stir the smell. The action and scent were reminiscent of Grandma Tafel, which I hoped would calm him. “Seriously, then. Times Square on New Year’s Eve. So what?”

  “Normally the vampires try to blend. Even though it’s illegal to carry liquor in, people are already so drunk or just high with excitement that they don’t notice a thing, and the vampires get away with it.”

  “Wait. Are you saying vampires are killing people at the New Year’s celebration? Wouldn’t we see the bodies the next day?”

  “Vampires can drink from humans without killing them, silly. And they generally don’t drink in public, but New Year’s Eve is the exception.” Aylmer picked up his tea, waved the mug over the suitcase. Flipped a switch and did it again, peering closely at the blinking lights. Whatever they whispered to him, he apparently felt safe enough to finally drink. “So here’s my brilliant plan. We hypnotize the vamps to remove their inhibitions. They fang up in full view and people start screaming. Running. The running further fires the lurking predator and whammo! Tons of damning footage. Maybe even a few corpses if we’re lucky.”

  I fell into my chair. “You’re going to remove whatever inhibitor keeps vampires from killing people? That’s no better than being a murderer yourself!”

  He pouted. “It’s their fault for not believing me. Once I have proof, everyone will believe me. They’ll have to.” His eyes narrowed on me. “I don’t know why I tell you things. I don’t know why I tell anyone!” He kicked back his chair and marched out. Came back, banged his briefcase shut, took it and stomped back out.

  I heard the slam of the bedroom door, sat for a moment processing. Vampires gone berserk, humans dying in droves. It was crazy. Aylmer couldn’t possibly do what he’d threatened. I held my mug but didn’t drink.

  At some point the sun set and I got up to turn on the lights. Yes, it was crazy, but if there was even a possibility Aylmer could deliver on his threat, it was too horrendous to ignore. I needed more information.

  I pulled out my cell phone and hit the speed dial for my friend Nixie Emerson.

  Chapter Three

  “Vampires?” Nixie laughed. It sounded slightly off to my ears, but I wasn’t sure. A musician would have known-they can hear cues in the voice the rest of us miss totally. In this case, though, the musician I’d ask was the one doing the laughing. She said, “Why would you think I’d have the 411 on vampires?”

  When talking with Nixie, I find it useful to shade toward her own brand of punk speak. “Girl, we don’t have time for a dodge. My cousin the madman is planning to out a whole bunch of bloodsuckers in Times Square tonight. Control their thoughts with hypnosis or something. So I’m asking you-is that possible? Do you or Hottie Hubby know anything that might make vampires go all fangy and drink people to death?”

  There was a deep murmur from the background. “It’s Twyla.” Nixie was apparently speaking to said hottie hubby. Lips smacked, faithfully reproduced by my phone. “The vampires in the Big Apple-” smack, “-are in deep shit.”

  The smacks told me they were in bed, doing it again. Near as I could tell they were always doing it. It was one of the things that clued me that Nixie’s hottie wasn’t entirely human. I thought of Nikos and shivered.

  More murmuring. But if anyone could help it was hubby Julian, who was seriously smart.

  “Twyla?” Nixie cleared her throat. Even a non-musician could tell she was uncomfortable. “There was some crap that went down at Christmas. If v-guys did exist-I’m not saying they do-but if they did one of them might’ve hatched a compulsion thing. A hypnotizer that works by sound waves. If it was real-’course it can’t be-it was supposed to be destroyed. But if there’s any chance it wasn’t-fuck me with a side order of damn. That would be bad.”

  “I sort of figured that out myself,” I said dryly.

  “Huh, Julian? Oh, yeah. Look, Twyla. You have to give Nikos a 911. That’s why we sent him with you.”

  “You what? He said he was here on business but…aw, crap.” His business was to watch over me. He didn’t really care.

  “If there were v-guys-not saying, but if-this would definitely be v-guy business. Twyla, just call Nikos. Here’s his number.”

  ***

  If there were vampires-not that Nixie said there were, but if-their underground coffins still had cell phone reception. Nikos answered on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”

  Damn, that sexy growl shot shivers straight down my spine to my sweet poo-say. Business, I reminded myself. “ Aylmer is planning something awful. I called Nixie but she said I should talk to you-and she said you were sent to keep an eye on me. That was your business? Me? Were your kisses business too?” I made a raspberry. “I would have been better off with the prostitute.”

  A breath of air came over the phone, his version of a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

  “It always is.” I jammed the phone under my jaw and started doing dishes-loudly.

  Another sigh. “We’ll need to talk. Expect Bruce in half an hour.”

  “Bruce? For real? Kato’s name is Bruce, like Bruce Lee?”

  “Meiers Corners,” he said by way of explanation. When God fished in the Coincidence Pool, he used Meiers Corners as bait.

  ***

  On the way out I caught an edge of movement in the deep shadows between the buildings, a skulking figure with light hair and lush lips. Like Modelboy, but what would he be doing here?

  Apprehension nearly sent me back inside but the limo showed up and I hopped right in. Bruce sped away, whisking me to an unmarked boutique hotel in Midtown.

  Nikos opened the door to a luxury suite. The first thing I saw was the fireplace. The second was the massive four-poster bed. The covers were rumpled.

  It gave me ideas. Maybe it was leftover frustration from not joining the mile-high club, although Nikos had taken care of me later, most satisfactorily.

  Or maybe it was because he’d taken care of me that I sauntered over to the bed and slid one hand along its brass post. “Ever play games?” Turning, I gave him my most brilliant smile.

  His eyes flared the hungry scarlet of a burning African veldt. He came closer. “What kind?”

  “Naughty games.” I ran my wrist along the post, suggestively.

  “I thought you wanted to talk.” He came closer still.

  “Talk will wait. Got any extra of these?” I grabbed the end of his tie, yanked it to pull him even closer. He came, but under his own steam. My smile faltered.

  “Plenty.” He cuffed my wrists, shackled them in one hand behind my back. Yeah, I’d forgotten he could do that.

  It pressed my breasts into his abs. He reached down and fondled one. I was immediately seared by his heat. He pinched a nipple and heat blazed into passion.

  He released my wrists to thread his hand through my hair. Holding me immobile he kissed me hard. Completely overwhelmed me with teeth and tongue.

  My game suddenly didn’t seem such a hot idea, not with Mr. Play-to-Win out to conquer the board. “Talk first.” Polysyllabic words were impossible with his mouth devouring me.

  “No. Sex first.” He kissed me with tongue everywhere, deep in my mouth, licking my lips, flicking fire along my teeth.

  “We don’t have time.” I pressed palms to his hard pecs, which didn’t give an inch. “My cousin-”

  “Twyla, shh.” His voice was half-growl, half-purr. He buried his face in my neck. Sharp teeth scored my sensitive skin. His tongue rasped after, chafing, arousing.

  My hands slid up his chest with each hot nip until my arms were wrapped around his shoulders and I was arching hard against him. “Nikos, wait. I have to tell you-uhhh.”

  His fangs had come out to play. Points of pleasure pricked my neck. My pulse leaped to meet them. I thrust myself closer as his fangs played across my vulnerable throat. Pressing his
advantage he backed me into one of the bedposts, his head-cupping hand hitting it with a clang. He released me gently against the post and drove both his hands down the back of my pants.

  Two big palms slid over my butt and pulled. He forced me into an arousal so big I nearly swooned. When he ground himself against me and grew bigger, my vision blackened around the edges.

  Okay. Hours until midnight. Nikos was here now, and he was hot for me. Talk could wait. Time to push my limits. I rubbed my hips against his expanding bulge, rippled against it, teasing.

  With a growl he swept me off my feet. He threw me under the saffron bed canopy and jumped in next to me, crowding me with his huge, naked body.

  Sexual haze disintegrated. He was naked? When had that happened?

  “Mist.”

  It was an answer but I couldn’t think how. And then I couldn’t care less as he ate me up with his hungry gaze, his pupils open circles of fire. “Your body is so lush.” He tore my shirt and bra up, growling with satisfaction when my breasts bounced free. He palmed one, his thumb brushing the nipple. “So full and creamy.”

  He fondled me, strong bronze fingers sinking into the globe. Tendons rippled in his arm. Answering passion stirred between my thighs. I tightened them against the first flush of moisture.

  He breathed deep. “You smell divine.” His head bent and he fastened onto my nipple.

  I arched. My hand found his back, ran over acres of sheer strength. I wanted to feel all that power on top of me. I wrapped one leg over his hips and tugged. “Kiss me.”

  He responded instantly-but not the direction I wanted. He vaulted to the end of the bed to yank my jeans off. Pushing my bare legs apart he climbed between them-and pressed a hard kiss to my sex.

  The suddenness of it, his hot breath on my vulva, made every hair stand straight up. “Nikos!”

  “Hush.” He kissed my pussy like my mouth-sucking, driving, tongue plunging. My heels dug into the bed. He caught my hips in both hands and used his enormous strength to grind me like a millstone.