Black Heart: Coeur de Sade (Black Heart Series) (10 page)

            “Just wishing for them worked?” I said.  Could it be that easy?  “I just have to sit around and think about wanting them, and in time they will grow?”

            “I don’t know,” he said, frustrating me again.  “I spent weeks staring at movie pictures and cartons of the kind of wings I wanted, concentrating with all I had.”  He shrugged.  “Then I spent months getting them just right.”

            “Just right?”

            “Well, the first ones looked great, but I couldn’t fly with them.  I experimented until I got them right.  It was a slow process,” he said.  “The wings I have now work real well.”

            “So I should concentrate on your wings, since you’ve already worked out the kinks,” I said, gracing him with my best winning smile.

            He looked me in the eyes, very intently, for an uncomfortable amount of time.  Then his eyes raked my body a number of times, all the while his pheromones pumped into the air.  I think I was winning him over.

            “I-I could help you,” he said.  His wings sprouted again, in all of their unholy glory.  I gasped, eyes wide as I stared at them.  Then in a rush, he said, “With my help you could have working wings in no time.  But...you have to promise to never tell anyone I am a vampire, especially not any members of The Crimson Knot.  Like your sister.”

            I could have wings.  Real wings.  Working wings.  My God, would I strike terror in the hearts of the undead or what?

            “Okay,” I said.  Roger was odd, but he didn’t seem a threat.  Of course, as a vampire that could change.  I’d keep a close eye on him.  “Can we start now?”

            Of course my cell rang.  The one the vampire council gave me.  Yeah, I lost mine at the mall.  I planned to use theirs as much as possible before they took it away.

            "Hello?" I said.

            "Sable, what are you doing?" Jeff Howell said.  He sounded angry.

            "Why?"

            "There's been another suicide, today while you slept.  A vamp working as a bouncer at the Black Rose," he said.  Was he implying it was my fault?  He hesitated, "And one of my boys is missing.  I think he'll be next."

            Someone I knew might die?  None of Jeff's family was remotely nice to me.  All of Jeff's "boys" were undead thugs.  I shouldn't care, but still.

            "Who are you missing?"

            "Jerry."

            Jerry Kincaid.  Not the worst of Jeff's thugs.  But I could understand Jeff's alarm.  Did that mean the killer had set his sights in him?  Another council member.

            "Charles Healey," I said.  "Were any members of his family killed before him?"

            "Yes.  Two," Jeff said.  I could tell by his voice he was thinking the same thing.  "The council thinks he might have a list of members, and of their family members.  You need to move fast."

            I didn't like his tone.

            "Is that a threat?"

            "Yes.  Both of your sisters are very pretty," he said.  I tightened my grip on the phone, unable to breath.  "And has your brother even graduated high school yet?"

            "I'm doing my best, damn you!" I said, trying hard not to scream at him.  "I'm not a detective."

            "You're a hunter.  Hunt," Jeff said grimly.  "Hunt faster."

            "Where was Jerry last seen?"

            "Black Rose," Jeff said.  "I sent him to investigate."

            "I'm on it," I said, and snapped the phone shut.  Glancing at Roger, I smiled weakly, "We'll have to start another time.  I have to go."

            "Is Sabrina alright?"

            "For now," I said, then cocked my head as I considered him.  From earlier comments, I knew he had been a vampire around eighteen years.  "Do you know anything about werewolves?"

            "A little."

            "Do you know any werewolves?"

            "No.  Werewolves don't like vampires, either," he said and shrugged.  "Unlike mortals, werewolves can spot a vampire on sight.  I actively avoid them."

            "Thanks anyway," I said, heading for my car.  I flipped the phone open and punched in Gabe's hospital room.  It rang five times, then he answered.  "Gabe?  It's Sable."

            "Ugghmm," he said.  Gabe sounded half asleep.  "You coming over?"

            "No," I said, reaching my car and sliding in.  I slammed the door and turned the key.  The Mustang roared to life.  Big engine.  Very fast.  "Do you know any werewolves?  It's important."

            Hesitation.  I felt him go cold through our link.  I felt fear within him.  Gabe was not happy about being a werewolf.  He refused to join a pack.  As far as I knew, he knew little more about the local werewolves than I did.

            "Sure," he said.  Very subdued.  Not like Gabe at all.

            "You do?"

            "I said I did.  Why?"

            Fear turned into anger.  Was there something between Gabe and the werewolves going on I didn't know about?

            "What about alphas?  You know an alpha male with a grudge against vampires?"

            That seemed to be a relief to him.  He was starting to pique my curiosity.

            "What alpha doesn't hold a grudge against vampires," he said and barked a laugh.  "Hell, I'm an alpha and I hunt vampires."

            True, but he hunted vampires for years before a werewolf bit him. 

            "Names," I said.  "Give me names, addresses, phone numbers, anything you got."

            "Why?"

            I ground my teeth together, trying heroically not to snarl at him.  Why must people try my patience?

            "Have you heard of the Coeur de Sade?"

            "No."

            "Then I'll explain later.  Give me names.  Now," I said.  "I have a situation on my hands, and don't have time to play your stupid little mind game."

            "All right," he said begrudgingly.  "But it better be a damned good explanation."

            Gabe gave me five names, but only one address.  He didn't have the others' addresses on the top of his head.  He would have to look at his address book, at home.  At least it was something.

            "Thanks, Gabe.  I owe you," I said, and snapped the phone closed before he could answer.  He was a lecher and a pervert.  If given five seconds he would let me know in explicit detail just what he expected in return.  I glanced at the dash clock.  "One twenty-two.  I have a few hours before sunrise."

            I headed for Deep Ellum and the Black Rose.

            At that time of night the roads were pretty clear.  I roared down Loop 635, called LBJ.  When I reached the High Fives, a fancy name for a really big clover leaf at the intersection of LBJ and Central Expressway, I turned south and headed toward downtown and Deep Ellum.

            Deep Ellum was an old warehouse district that the young and hip turned into their club district way back before my parents were of age to go there.  It was only a few blocks, but packed in an awful lot of variety.  Sometime in the nineties the vampires moved in.  Or maybe they just stopped hiding and had always been there.

            There were only half a dozen openly vampire clubs.  Technically the club were mostly presented to the world as Goth clubs, or something even more over the edge into kink.  Suffice to say the average soccer mom wouldn't have been seen dead in one of them.  There were other vampire clubs scattered around the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, but not in the same concentration as in Deep Ellum.

            Even that late, on a Sunday night Deep Ellum was rocking.  The sidewalks were packed with young adults.  Freaks, geeks, Goths, and kinksters all intermingled, most in college or not long out.  I was almost out of Deep Ellum before I found a parking place.

            Before long I was striding up to the front door of the Black Rose.  The Black Rose looked the same as last time I paid a visit, back on September seventeenth, that began my path down into undead glory.  Had it only been three weeks?  Seemed like a lifetime.

            Once again I was striding down the street, stiletto heels clacking and heads turning.  I wasn't dressed as provocatively as last time, but tight jeans and thigh boots got most people's attention.  Even the two doormen at the entrance took notice.  One was a vampire.  Both were six feet plus, shaved bald and burly.  They wore tight black t-shirts and black trousers, with headsets keeping them in constant communication with their grim brethren inside.

            "Hello, boys," I said.  "Got a minute?"

            "No," the vampire said, giving me the once over and not really looking that impressed.  The mortal was more impressed, but hiding it outwardly.  But I could smell his interest.  "Go inside, or leave."

            I ignored his rudeness.

            "I'm here to investigate the apparent suicide of a vampire at the end of last night," I said.  "Were either of you working when it happened?"

            "Who are you?  Why should we answer your questions?" vampire boy said.

            "Me?  I'm Sable," I said.  "You should answer my questions because I'm trying to help.  I'm trying to stop the killings."

            "Talk to management."

            "I will, but first I want to speak with eyewitnesses," I said.

            Vampire boy graced me with the most suspicious look.

            "We've already answered questions," he said.

            "Tall vamp?  Light brown hair and weightlifter body?"

            "Yeah.  Said his name was Jerry," he said.

            "Jerry Kincaid.  One of Jeff Howell's boys," I said, nodding.  The bouncers shared a startled look.  "That's right, Jeff Howell from the council.  His boy's missing now."  That got their attention.  "I'm looking for him, too.  You wouldn't happen to know where he went, would you?"

            "Reunion," the mortal said.

            I slanted a look over my shoulder and slightly up.  I could see the big round ball of Reunion Tower.  It was framed between two buildings.  Reunion was on the other side of downtown.  The lights around the ball were going through their sequences, putting on their nightly show.

            "Yeah, he spoke with a man down by the corner — a werewolf by his aura — and then came back to his car muttering about going to Reunion," the vampire said.

            "Yeah, weird," the mortal said.

            "Werewolf?  Really?" I said.  I stepped close, eagerly.  "Describe him."

            They hesitated, thinking.  The vampire doorman said, "Six feet plus.  Black leather jacket.  Jeans."

            "Medium length brown hair," the mortal added.  "Short beard, I think."

            "Yeah, he had a beard," the vamp said.

            “What are you doing?” a familiar voice demanded from the door.

            An
acquaintance
stood a few steps inside, with a pair of undead bouncers to either side of her.

            “Hello, Valerie,” I said.  She was decked out in full vampire slut regalia — black leather corset, matching ankle-length leather skirt with a dramatic slit up the front to expose black patent leather thigh boots.  Black silk opera gloves and lots of diamond jewelry finished off her look.  Just the sort of thing your stereotypical vampire babe would wear for a night on the town.  “You know that you’re mortal, right?  Not dead.  Not a vampire.”

            Valerie St Clair was the owner of the club.  She was a former stripper, turned entrepreneur.  I knew of four clubs she owned that were vampire hangouts.  Two of them were in Deep Ellum — Black Rose and Ruby Necklace.  The beautiful blonde was also a known fang whore, vampire wannabe, and president of the local chapter of the Vampire Anti-Defamation League.

            “Hello, Sable,” she said, coming just shy of sneering.  Valerie didn’t care for me much, and me being a vampire, too.  I guess she holds a grudge.  She turned to the bouncers, “Why are you talking to
her
, to Black Heart?”

            “She’s Black Heart?” the mortal said.

            “That ain’t right,” I said, locking eyes with Valerie.  She was brave.  I could easily mesmerize her.  She really should be wearing eye protection.  I admired her defiance.  “You defamed me, a real live vampire.  And you’re the president of VAL, too.  That's gotta be bad karma.”

            VAL — Vampire Anti-defamation League — was a national organization, with the ear of the politicians in Washington.  Yeah, the fang whores were organizing to make life better for their undead lovers.  What next?  Vampire Political Action Committees to get their candidates elected?

            “Can’t defame a murderer,” Valerie said.  She smiled cruelly at me.  "Boys, escort Black Heart down into the basement.  Bind her into the large rack, and I'll get my knives."

            Okay, that did scare me.  She sounded confident they could do just that.  To me.  A vampire.  Valerie was well aware of what vampires could and couldn't do.  I'm sure there was no mortal in Dallas that knew more about vampires than Valerie.

            "Interesting idea," I said.  I gave them all my best deathly cold gaze.  The three vampires started towards me anyway.  I pretended to ignore them as I continued speaking to Valerie.  "How old are your pet vamps?"  None of the vampires liked that comment.  All three snarled.  "One hundred?  Two hundred?  Three hundred?"

            "They're all older than you," Valerie said.

            "Clive Honeywell was older than me.  Over six hundred," I said.  The vamps stopped in their tracks.  I smelled the scent of fear.  One of them even looked troubled.  "I killed him in a one-on-one fight.  He had three vamps over five hundred following him, and I killed them, too."

            "You got lucky," she said.  Valerie didn't look quite so confident now.

            "Killing one five hundred year old vampire
might
be considered lucky," I said.  "Killing four over five hundred takes skill and ability.  And I'm not even mentioning all of the vamps over three hundred, two hundred, one hundred."