Vamparazzi (20 page)

Able to speak now, I said, “I want them arrested!
All
of them! Do you hear me?”

This wasn't an attempt to prevent them from following in Angeline's tragic footsteps. I just wanted them all to stew in jail while they contemplated the sin of attacking an innocent actress.

“Arrested!” I repeated. “I want them to have criminal records! Rap sheets! Legal expenses!” I realized I was shouting. I took another breath and said less hysterically, “They deserve to be arrested for this.”

“Yes, ma'am. Absolutely. We're taking care of it.”

Then I gasped as I recalled that my gallant defender was lying wounded on the pavement. “Leischneudel!”

I turned and scooted over to him. Another cop was tending him. His eyes were open, but the cop was advising him not to sit up just yet. I glanced around and saw that other cops were getting the chaotic scene under control. I was glad to see that quite a few of the vamparazzi obviously disapproved of the Janes assaulting me, and they seemed to be helping the police round them up. The rest of the fans were voluntarily retreating back behind the barricades, noisy but orderly. Some of them started calling out concerned questions, wanting to know if Leischneudel and I were okay.

“Maybe you shouldn't get up just yet, sir,” said one of the cops as Leischneudel began trying to rise.

“No, no, I'll be all right.” He reached for me, and I helped him climb slowly to his feet. He stood there for a moment, using me for balance, his posture a little bit hunched over. His face was still strained, but he nodded after a moment. “I'm okay. It's just always kind of a shock to the system when that happens. You know what I mean?”

The two cops nodded vigorously.

Leischneudel took a deep breath and smiled wanly. “I'd really like to go home now.”

“Of course.”

As we helped Leischneudel walk gingerly toward the squad car, the cop who'd spoken to me earlier said, “With such an exciting show out here, I don't know why anyone would pay three-fifty just to see the
play
.”

“Indeed.” Another flashbulb went off in my face. “Heigh ho, the glamorous life.”

L
opez was nibbling delicately on my neck, the wet heat of his mouth seductive and sultry. His lush lips caressed my sensitive skin, and his teeth nipped just hard enough to hurt me a little—in that
good
way.

“I missed you,” I whispered, wanting to weep with longing. “I tried so hard to be strong, but now that you're here, I . . .”

I . . . actually, I couldn't remember how he had gotten here. Or why he was here. I also didn't know where “here” was.

But I didn't really care. His arms were around me, his hands moving over my body, his tongue stroking and teasing me . . .

I gasped when he shoved me down onto the bed. He followed me down to the mattress, his solid weight deliciously heavy on me, his touch rough and ruthless as he imprisoned my hands over my head and started kissing me with reckless hunger.

“He's really
not
the altar boy he pretends to be, is he?”

“What?” I said, startled by the sound of a woman's voice here in my bedroom—ironic, cold, a little malicious.

“Hmm?” His breath was warm and sweet as he nuzzled me, suddenly gentle again.

“Who said that?” It had sounded so familiar. I'd heard those words before. In exactly that voice. “Who's here?”

“You remember.” Lopez looked down into my face. Even though it was dark, I could see how blue his thicklashed eyes were. I could see, I realized, because there were flames all around us. Illuminating everything. The bed was on fire!

He murmured softly against my lips, “She killed me.”

“This is dangerous.” I looked around at the burning bed. “We should do something about this. Don't you want to know what to do?”

“Because of you,” he said. “She killed me because of you. Remember?”

I did remember! I had asked for his help one hot summer night in Harlem, and now he lay near death in a dark ritual space, a secret room consecrated to Evil, where no one would know to look for him.

“I went there for
you,
” he whispered.

“I know.” I started crying.

“No!” I wailed.

Lopez was standing behind me now, and we were in a long, dark, echoing tunnel underground. Stalactites hung down around us, creating a shimmering upsidedown forest of beautiful, tortuously twisted crystal formations.

“You like it here,” I mused. “I didn't know that about you.”

He was trying to unlace my Regency gown. “The girl was a ringer for you in this dress. You should take it off.”

I felt him pulling on the fastenings of my gown. I also saw him lying in front of me, on the cold, damp floor of the tunnel. He had been given an ordeal poison and was dying of slow paralysis. Sweat beaded his face. He could barely breathe. He was looking at me, silently imploring me to do something about this.

“I did what I had to!” I said desperately. “You should go now!”

“Let's get this dress off you first,” he said behind me.

“Am I really in danger?” I asked.

“I wanted to show you this.”

“What?”

Still lying on the floor, his neck was bleeding now. He showed me the fang marks on his jugular vein.

“No, it's my carotid artery,” he said.

“This is
your
doing,” his killer said to me. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“You're an evil bitch,” I replied.

“But she got in here, even so,” Lopez whispered, tugging at my gown.

I felt impatient now, wanting him to finish undoing my laces and take off my clothes. To shed the layers between us so we could embrace, naked and uninhibited. I yearned for that. But the more he yanked and tugged and tried to free me, the more knotted and tangled the laces got, and the heavier and thicker the layers of cloth became.

“Maybe I
have
to wear it,” I said at last. “Maybe this is just how it is.”

“It looks good on you,” he said judiciously.

I looked at the teeth marks on his neck as he lay dying on the filthy floor of the tunnel.

“There's more to this, isn't there?” I asked.

“You know the answer to that by now.”

I touched my neck and felt bite marks there. “Yes, I know.”

When I pulled my hand away from my wound, I saw there was blood on my fingers. “Is it safe?”

“Ask them.”

I turned in the direction of his gaze, and I saw a horde of vamparazzi stampeding through the tunnel, coming in this direction. I recognized Daemon among them, dressed as Lord Ruthven. He was surrounded by grinning goth girls and mean-looking guys in black leather. There was also a woman in white body paint, with a low-cut red dress and elaborate red wings. When she smiled, I saw a row of sharp teeth. She was with a guy who had wobbly fangs and a slight drooling problem.

“They think a vampire did it,” Leischneudel said, standing beside me. He looked hollow-eyed and frightened.

“Is it really blood?” Dr. Hal shouted, stampeding with the other vamparazzi. He waved a placard overhead that I couldn't quite read. “How do you
know?
”

“I just
hate
vampires,” Thack said to me.

“Should you be wearing a white suit down here?” I asked, looking at his outfit.

“Don't be absurd,” he replied. “I never wear white after Labor Day.”

“But—”

“Get her!
Get her!
” the Janes screamed, racing toward me with maddened expressions.

I gasped in fear and fell back a step, then turned to ask Lopez for help. But I saw him lying there, dying because of me, and I changed my mind. Instead, I turned and ran in the other direction, leading the swarm away from him. But I didn't know where I was going. I was just staggering around in the dark, my legs heavy and unresponsive, the thick blackness of the tunnels closing in on me.

I tried to shout for help, but my voice didn't work.

I looked over my shoulder and saw the vamparazzi coming for me, their flashbulbs going off, illuminating the tunnels. In the elusive light of their flashes, I could see an escape route, but my legs wouldn't
move
. The Janes were stalking me now, their fangs drooling, blood dripping from their pouty pink mouths.

“Hey, can I get some photos of this?” Al Tarr asked me.

I found my voice. “Go away!”

Tarr pulled out his notebook, poised his pen over it, and asked, “So that's my rival?”

He nodded toward Lopez, who leaned casually against a tunnel wall nearby, wearing grubby clothing, his hair too long, and in need of a shave. He looked dangerous and sexy.

“What's he doing here?” the reporter asked, scribbling in his notebook.

“He's always here,” I said. “You know that.”

“Does he know any good songs?”

“What?”

Tarr shook his head and kept taking notes.

I frowned when I saw that Lopez's neck was still bleeding.

“What if there really
is
a vampire lurking around here?” I asked Tarr.

The tabloid writer looked surprised by that. “If there is . . .” He thought it over. “Well, then we gotta get some pictures.”

I shook my head. “I don't have a camera.”

“Me, neither.” He prodded, “But you know who does, right?”

“Yes.” I looked over at the wall again, but Lopez was gone. I watched a Jane stalking past me and Tarr, her eyes glowing, her fangs dripping. I stood very still, not even breathing, hoping she wouldn't notice me. After she moved on to another prospective victim, I nodded and said, “I know who has a camera.”

“Can you get it?” Tarr asked.

“Get it?” I repeated.

The sharp ring of the telephone jerked me out of a sound sleep. I flinched, my heart pounding, my brain disoriented and befuddled. I looked around in confusion as I pressed a hand against my thudding chest.

The phone rang again.

I groaned as I rolled over in my bed and glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was a little after noon. So I'd had almost six hours of sleep. I scrubbed my face with my hands as the phone rang again. Squinting my stinging eyes against the sunlight that was filtering through the blinds on my bedroom window, I picked up the receiver and croaked, “Hello?”

“How did you manage to turn yourself into a suspect ?” Lopez demanded.

Since I had seen him only moments ago in my dreams (where I had done a little more than just
look
), hearing his voice on my phone confused me. As did his opening salvo.

I said, “Huh?”

“When I left the theater last night, you were a witness and maybe a target. Now you're also a suspect,” he said in exasperation. “How
do
you manage these things?”

“Huh?”

He backed up a step. “Are you awake, Esther?”

“I am
now,
” I said irritably. “I think I liked you better in my dreams.”

“What?”

“Why did you wake me?”

“I didn't know you'd still be asleep.” After a moment, he added, “Sorry. It probably should have occurred to me. I know they kept you at the theater until nearly five. And I also heard about what happened when you left. How are you?”

I winced as I sat up. “
Ow
. . . A few aches and pains, that's for sure. I wonder how many women were in the pile-on?”

“Five were arrested.”

“It seemed like more,” I said wearily, sliding out of bed and stumbling down the hallway. “So you've talked to the cops today, I gather?”

“Yeah. Branson and I connected by phone a couple of hours ago. Which is how I know that you're a suspect now.”

“I don't understand.” I went into the kitchen to open a bottle of painkillers and pour a glass of water. “How?
Why?
”

“Funny, that's what
I
said.”

“Well?”

“Apparently you made a poor impression on Detective Branson when he interviewed you.”

“Oh, good grief.”

“I've only seen a little of your work,” Lopez said. “But I've seen enough to know you're a very good actress.”

“Yeah?” I perked up. “Did you see—”

“So why can't you at least
fake
sensitivity and womanly emotion when the situation calls for it?”

“Whoa. Branson thinks that because I'm not distraught over the victim's death, that means I might have
killed
her?” I swallowed three painkillers with a gulp of water.

“Something like that,” Lopez said dryly.

“You're not going to disagree with me when I say he's an
idiot,
are you?” I decided that caffeine was the essential chaser for my ibuprofen breakfast.

“Apparently he expected better of you, Esther,” Lopez said solemnly. “But then, he doesn't know you like I do.”

“Hmph.” I started pouring water into the coffee machine. “Wait a minute. If I'm a suspect, that means ... They still don't know who the killer is?”

“Right again.”

“Daemon's not under arrest?” I blurted in surprise. It had seemed like a sure thing last night.

“No. They sent him home a couple of hours ago.”