Vamparazzi (30 page)

I was clutching Max for balance now. He had a look of fierce concentration on his face and was muttering something in what sounded like Latin. A moment later, at least a dozen people around us suddenly flailed and flew backward, as if pushed by a large, unseen hand. Some of them staggered into the people behind them. Others fell on their butts. All of them looked utterly astonished.

Max looked around, clearly pleased with the results of his effort to protect me. “Oh, that was rather good. I wasn't sure it would work.”

The stunned vamparazzi were jabbering in confusion, shrieking, or trying to catch their breath after being winded by that sudden fall. Cops nearby were rushing toward this area and blowing their whistles.

A thin, sallow Jane who was lying on the ground pointed at me. “She assaulted me. She
pushed
me! I want to press charges!”

“I never touched you,” I snapped. “And that dress doesn't suit you at
all.
”

Max was trying to soothe Nelli, who was still barking in alarm.

“Miss Diamond?” One of the cops from the blockedoff portion of the street called, “If you'll move to the end of the barricade, we can let you through.”

I doubtfully eyed the horde of vamparazzi whom I would have to push past to get to the spot he had indicated.

Then I heard another shrill whistle—made by an unaided human mouth this time—pierce through the sea of bodies that surrounded the people who were still picking themselves up off the sidewalk.

A deep male voice bellowed, “Coming through! Please make way! Miss, do
not
make me move you. Thank you! Coming through!”

Four tall men, moving together like a military unit, shoved their way through the crowd, then stepped over the people who were still sitting on the sidewalk with dazed expressions. The foursome stopped directly in front of me and Max.

The one whose voice I'd heard said, “Miss Diamond, how do you do? I'm Flame.” He gestured to his three black-clad companions. “That's Treat, he's Casper, and this is Silent. We're your vampire posse.”

“My what?”

“Your vampire posse, ma'am.” He was a tall, burly man with long blond hair, a beard, and tattooed forearms. He wore no makeup, but he was in the usual black leather clothing, and he had a profusion of silver jewelry—chains, pins, earrings, and rings, all in the shapes of skulls, dragons, and daggers. “We will escort you safely to the stage door.” He eyed Nelli, who was bristling at him. “And we'll protect you from this dog.”

“She's with me. So is this gentleman.” I was clinging to Max's arm. “Who sent you?”

“No one,” said Flame. “We are strictly a voluntary force, ma'am.”

“I see.” I suspected that four total strangers offering to take charge of my safety was implicitly included in the things Lopez had instructed me to avoid. “I'm not sure . . .”

“The vampire community has decided we need to protect the cast members of this show from people who are conducting themselves in a way that reflects badly on vampires.”

“Lithuanians, loose cannons, or the undead?”

“Even the undead aren't this unruly,” Max said seriously.

Flame continued, “
Your
protection was deemed a matter of particular urgency, Miss Diamond, because you were assaulted last night.”

“And also the night before,” I added.

“Nothing like that will happen to you again. Not on
my
watch.” Flame looked over my shoulder and raised his hand in friendly salute to the cops on the other side of the barricade. “Thank you for your vigilance, officers. We've got this covered now.”

“Miss Diamond?” a cop called behind me.

I noticed that the vamparazzi were gradually backing off and calming down. Perhaps because Flame and his pals were their own kind, so to speak.

“My vampire posse, huh?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Okay.” I made my decision. “Please get me and my companions to the stage door without further incident.”

“Absolutely. Right this way, ma'am.”

I waved to the cops and, still holding onto Max's arm, proceeded through the crowd, surrounded by my bodyguards and followed so closely by Nelli that her paws kept scraping my heels. Her nails needed cutting.

My vampire posse moved through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, maintaining a steady pace, keeping people away from me, and sternly advising the vamparazzi to show courtesy and respect.

Several young women dressed like Jane were trying to get my autograph, which was certainly an improvement over punching and kicking me; but I was disinclined to risk stopping long enough to sign anything.

My protectors (except for Silent, who said nothing) tersely warned the Janes away, uttering phrases like, “Move out of Miss Diamond's perimeter
immediately
or you will be deemed a clear and present threat.”

We also passed a long line of black-clad people carrying banners from Vampire Recovery (whose membership appeared to have tripled overnight). When they realized whom the posse was escorting, they all started screaming at me, “Run, Esther!
Run! Don't
do the show! He's too dangerous! Look what happened to Angeline!
Don't go anywhere near him!
”

“Well, that's certainly helped settle my distracted nerves right before a performance,” I said. “Much appreciated, folks.”

They were too busy shouting to notice that I had spoken.

Max leaned close to me. “Attempting to identify a vampire in this milieu will be more challenging than I anticipated.”

“Indeed.” Considering the insanity out here, as well as Nelli's agitation, I said, “You'd both better come inside with me.”

I also saw Dr. Hal from the Society for the Scientific Study of Vampires. He was hopping up and down on the edge of my, er, perimeter. Today his picket sign said:
VAMPIRE—OR JUST MURDERER?

I began to wonder how many people besides the cops thought Daemon was guilty.

Dr. Hal caught my eye and shouted, “Esther! We need to talk! Help us prove he's not a vampire!”

“Who is that?” Max asked curiously as Hal waved at me.

“Don't encourage him,” I said.

My vampire posse escorted us to our destination without anyone laying a finger on me. Then, at my insistence, the police allowed them to pass through the barricade and go right up to the stage door with me. As I pointed out to the cops, I had been attacked on this very spot two nights in a row,
while
police were on duty there; so now I chose to bring my own security. I gave instructions that my vampire posse, who had done a better job of protecting me today than any of the police had done to date, were to be allowed to wait for me
right
outside the stage door after the show.

Once inside the theater, with the stage door closed firmly behind us, Max, Nelli, and I all let out identical sighs of relief.

“The Council of Gediminas,” Max said, “will be more than a little vexed by how much negative attention this whole matter is attracting to vampirism.”

I shrugged and led the way to my dressing room. “Who are they going to complain to?”

“
Complaining
is not their way,” Max said ominously as he followed me. “Swift, decisive, comprehensive action—and, if they deem it necessary,
ruthless
action—is more in keeping with their methods.”

“Oh. Good point.”

“You fucking bastard, Eric!”
Mad Rachel screeched.
“Go to hell, you SHITTY FUCKFACE!”

Nelli flinched.

Max winced. “Good heavens! What is
that?
”

“My roommate.” I sighed and pushed open the door to my dressing room.

Already in costume and makeup (she was punctual, if nothing else), Rachel was pacing the room with her cell phone pressed to her ear. As we entered, she emitted another volley of vicious obscenities at full volume. Despite living through 350 eventful years of confronting Evil, Max seemed shocked by her language.

Rachel looked annoyed by our intrusion. Then her gaze fixed on Nelli. An unfamiliar expression contorted her pretty face. It dawned on me that she might be afraid of dogs. Or allergic to them. Or just not like animals. And Nelli, in addition to her intimidating size, was neither the best behaved nor the most hygienic animal in the world—or, indeed, within any random two hundredyard radius.

Perhaps it had been thoughtless of me to bring Nelli into this dressing room without asking.

I certainly
hoped
so.

“Rachel, this is my friend Max. And that's his canine companion, Nelli.” Driven by a level of malice I would have said was beyond me, prior to sharing this space with Mad Rachel for the past six weeks, I added, “Max has come to see the show. Nelli will stay here in our room.”

The contortion of Rachel's face grew more pronounced. She said into her phone, “I have to go now. Love you. Bye.” She disconnected the call. “Nelli?”

Hearing her name, Nelli, whose nerves were recovering now, crossed the room to greet Rachel.

Eagerly anticipating Rachel's horrified reaction as Nelli approached her, I finally recognized the unfamiliar expression distorting her face.
Pleasure.

I had never seen Mad Rachel look pleased before.

She reached out to pet and pat Nelli enthusiastically, then gave the canine familiar a big hug. “Ohhhh, who's a pwiddy widdle dog? Who's got the pwiddiest face in the whole wide world? Is it you, Nelli? Is it
you?
Oh, yes, who's a good girl? Who's a good gurrrrl?”

Nelli, the traitorous baggage, lapped it up. She wagged her lethal tail furiously, whined with delight, bounced around playfully (knocking over a chair), licked Rachel's face, and gently butted the actress in the stomach with her massive head.

I looked at Max in bemusement.

He beamed at me. “Nelli has such a way with people.”

“Oh, there you are!” Leischneudel said from the doorway, still clean-faced and in his street clothes. He was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. I recalled that he'd scarcely slept for the past two nights. “I was kind of worried. Those crowds out there . . .”

Nelli sneezed violently. Right on Rachel's dress.

I tensed, expecting a sudden (and noisy) shift in the prevailing wind. Rachel was so fastidious that she threw a tantrum if I happened to leave a used tissue lying on my side of our makeup counter.

But the actress just brushed casually at her gown and warbled, “Oh, somebody
sneezed!
Did Nelli sneeze? Was that you sneezing, Nelli?”

As if sensing her cue, Nelli sneezed again. And yet again.

“Oh, poor baby! Someone's got a widdle cold!”

Leischneudel was staring at Rachel as if she had grown a second head.

I said to him, “I guess she likes dogs.”

He continued gaping at Rachel for a long moment, then gave himself a little shake. “I suppose, sooner or later, she was bound to like
something
.”

I introduced Leischneudel to Max. They exchanged cordial greetings, then the actor's gaze shifted again to Rachel. She was cooing solicitously as she poured a drink of water for Nelli into an empty cookie tin that previous denizens of this room had left behind.

“I have a four-man vampire posse now,” I told Leischneudel. “Do you have one, too?”

“I have the Caped Crusaders,” he said. “Two guys in ... capes. I was, oh, a little startled when they suddenly flanked me outside the theater today.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I guess they mean well, but they make me nervous.”

“Go figure.”

“Esther, something's up. There's a . . .” He glanced hesitantly at Max.

“Max is a trusted friend,” I said. “You can speak freely in front of him.”

And there were no worries about speaking in front of Rachel, who was still yakking chirpily to Nelli.

Leischneudel nodded and said, “Well, Daemon came to work early today. Trying to beat the crowd, I think.”

“That's not like him,” I noted.

Nelli sneezed. Rachel coddled her.

Leischneudel continued, “I got the impression from what Victor said—Victor's really in a
state
—that Daemon was worried about a negative reception from some of the fans. So he wanted to arrive well before he was expected and get inside quickly.” He explained, “You see, Tarr filed a story about the murder that was released in the
Exposé
's online edition a few hours ago. And it doesn't make Daemon look good.”

“Well, what did Daemon expect?” I said dismissively. “Tarr's in this for himself, not for Daemon.”

“Apparently that didn't really occur to Daemon until he saw today's story,” said Leischneudel. “Anyhow, Tarr got here a few minutes after I did. As soon as they met, Daemon started shouting.”

“I kind of regret missing
that
.” I asked hopefully, “Is there any chance Daemon threw him out of the theater and told him never to darken our doorway again?”

“I think he might have been working up to that. He was really angry. But then they were interrupted. Detective Branson showed up and wanted to speak to Daemon right away.”

“Who is Detective Branson?” Max asked.

I explained, then wondered, “Doesn't Branson ever sleep?”

“I guess Tarr got kicked out of the room then, because he . . .” Leischneudel stopped speaking and turned his head to look through the open door.

“What?” I prodded.

“Someone's coming,” he said, obviously interested in seeing who it was.