Vamparazzi (42 page)

Tarr voiced my thoughts. “Where's your phone, Rachel?”

“In my bag. Why?” She dumped her hold-all on the counter and continued, “The cops have
not
got that situation under control. Something bad is going to happen out there. I can feel it!” Noticing that I was still staring openmouthed at her, she said, “What?”

“I'm just not used to seeing you without a phone glued to your ear,” I admitted.

“Me, neither,” said Tarr.

“What
ever
. Oh! I read your story today, Al,” Rachel said. “And I'm
so glad
you're here.”

“You are?” I blurted.

“I have a
lot
of questions.” She pulled up a chair and sat down close to Tarr, which obviously startled him. “Do you really think we're working with a killer? Because if Daemon's murdered someone, then I'm calling Equity. I don't think I should have to share the stage with him, do you?”

I noticed the open, partially empty bottle of champagne I had left sitting here the night before, and I seized on it as an excuse to flee the room. “I have to go put this in Daemon's fridge. Bye!”

Tarr said, “Wait a minute, toots. I wanted to—”

“I'll be right back,” I lied.

I made my escape, pleased to realize I wouldn't have to go back in there before intermission, when I'd need to do a quick touch-up to my face. For now, my make up, hair, and costume were all ready. I'd go wait in Daemon's room until he arrived, when I'd ask him to sniff my hypoallergenic self and make sure we were good to go. Then I'd go hang out in Leischneudel's room until curtain. This strategy would also have the advantage of making it harder for Fiona to find me, if she were around. She hadn't cornered me yet about the stain on my hem, and she might make the effort tonight.

Halfway down the hall, I realized I had left my cell in my dressing room, which meant that I wouldn't be able to check for an update from Thack. Oh, well. I certainly didn't want to go back in
there
to fetch it. Besides, I should be thinking about the show for the next few hours. The latest update on the Lithuanian connection could wait until I was finished with work.

I saw Bill approaching from the other direction, looking frazzled. I remembered my promise to Lopez and decided I'd better speak to the stage manager now about that door that led into the tunnel system.

“Um, Bill, I have kind of a strange—”

“It is a madhouse outside,” he said heavily. “I swear, it's gone from crazy to dangerous.”

“I know. It's pretty bad tonight. Listen, there's something I need to—”

“The cops really have their hands full. And I don't know
how
we're going to manage to open the house and get people seated,” Bill continued morosely. “The house manager says they're about to have a riot in the lobby.”

I frowned. “Seriously?”

“People are trying to
break in
to the theater out front,” he said. “And, actually, I think people
have
broken in back here. I've just called the cops and told them we need some of them inside tonight. We might have intruders backstage.”

“What?
How?
”

Bill held up a finger as his cell phone rang. “Just a minute, Esther.”

I thought through the possibilities while he answered his call, which seemed to be a follow-up on his request for assistance inside the building. The only ways into the backstage area were through the front-of-house, which was still closed (but apparently under siege); via the unloading area, which was always securely locked if the crew wasn't moving sets and equipment; via the backstage fire exit, which could only be opened from the inside; and the stage door, which was guarded.

My stomach sank as I realized there was one more way to get in here—via the underground tunnels.

Oh,
no.
Had I waited too long to follow Lopez's instructions? Had the killer infiltrated the theater from below? Was he stalking the cast and crew even now, preparing to pounce, slay, and feast?

Bill ended the call with a demoralized sigh. “The cops understand our concern about the intruders, but they can't spare anyone from duty outside the theater. Things are too out of hand out there, as it is. They're going to try to shift more officers from other duties to the Hamburg, but that'll take a while.”

“Somebody has broken in backstage?” I prodded in alarm. “From the basement?”

“The basement?” he repeated with a puzzled frown. “No, I think someone's come in through the roof.”

“The roof?”

“There's an old ventilation shaft way at the back of the stage. We've just found a couple of rappelling ropes dangling down from it. They weren't there when we reset the show last night, I know that much.”

“Whoa.” The ceiling there must be thirty feet high. “You're saying that someone climbed onto the roof and rappelled down to the stage?”

“I know. Even for these people, it's crazy, isn't it?”

“How did they get up there?” I wondered.

“I have no idea. But it's been dark for well over an hour, so I guess they were able to do it without being spotted.” Bill added, “That's a long fall to the floor if someone doesn't really know what they're doing. I hope they chickened out and went away after dropping the ropes down.”

“So do I.”

“But I'll feel better when we get a cop or two patrolling back here.”

“Me, too.”

Bill said, “Look, if you see Daemon before I do, please warn him about this. If someone has broken in, then he's bound to be the person they're trying to see—or to harass.”

“Of course.” I started to add, “By the way, there is another way to get into . . .” But Bill was already halfway down the hall—and much too busy and stressed for me to show him the tunnel door right now, anyhow.

Hoping that Daemon would get here soon, I walked to his door, opened it, entered the room—and came to a surprised halt when I saw Leischneudel standing in front of Daemon's little refrigerator, with the door open, revealing its empty interior. He was drinking a bottle of ruby red liquid.

He flinched guiltily, lowered the bottle, and gaped at me in openmouthed alarm.

My first thought was that he was so stressed-out by the hysterical vamparazzi tonight that he was filching Daemon's last bottle of Nocturne, despite being a nondrinker. I started to hold up my open bottle of lukewarm, flat champagne, to offer it as an alternative . . .

But then I realized that wasn't a Nocturne bottle he was now trying to conceal behind his back. It was one of the decorative little bottles in which Daemon kept his own blood.

I also saw, with a horrified chill that raced straight to the pit of my stomach, that the sticky red liquid clinging to Leischneudel's lips and teeth wasn't wine cooler.

“Oh, my God!” I dropped my champagne bottle as I gaped at him. It hit the floor with a heavy thud and spilled tepid bubbly all around my feet.

“It's not what you think,” he said quickly.

His mouth was bright red with blood. I uttered a horrified gurgle of disgusted fear when he unconsciously licked and smacked his lips while staring at me in quivering, guilt-ridden anxiety and trying to think of what to say.

“You're a
vampire?
” I cried.

“Oh.” Leischneudel blinked. “Well. Yes, then maybe it
is
what you think.”

“Keep your voice down,” he said anxiously. He set down the bottled blood and glanced into the hall to see if anyone had heard me. “Close the door.”

Taking all factors into account, I let out a bloodcurdling scream—which stuck ineffectually in my terror-constricted throat—and turned to flee. I slipped on the spilled champagne and flailed madly in the doorway, trying to get traction.

“Esther!” He was on me in flash, his arms around me as he dragged me back into the room, faster and stronger than I had expected.

“No!” I screeched.
“No!”

Leischneudel slammed the dressing room door, shoved me against it, and pinned my arms to my sides when I tried to fight him.

“Esther! Listen!
Listen
to me.”

I looked at his reddened lips and teeth, and I screwed up my face in disgust. “Oh, my
God!
You're the killer!
You
murdered that girl! It's you! How
could
. . . umph nnng!” My voice was reduced to panicky grunting when he covered my mouth with his hand and pressed hard, trying to silence me.

“The
killer?
” he blurted, clearly horrified. “Oh, my God! How could you think
that?
”

Panting frantically through my nose, I grunted out my answer beneath the pressure of his hand.

“Well, yes, I'm a vampire,” he said. “But I'm not a
psychopath.
All right, I have to drink a little blood now and then. But I certainly don't go around
killing
people.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding, caught off guard by how normal he seemed—well, except for the blood on his mouth. I grunted inquisitively.

“No, of course not! How could you
possibly
. . .” His expression was shocked and hurt. “I don't even kill spiders!
You
know that ... Well, okay, there was that one time—but it was really big and hairy, and it was in my tub, and it scared me.”

I was still breathing hard, torn between frightened suspicion of this newly exposed vampire and a desire to believe my friend. “Ung oong imayay?”

“What? Oh. Sorry.” He removed his hand from my mouth. “I guess I freaked out for a minute there. I was afraid you were going to run all over the theater screaming that I'm a vampire.”

“Well, I was.” I winced and touched my cheek, which was still tender and slightly inflamed beneath my makeup.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?” He leaned closer to inspect my skin.

“Stay back!” I snapped, seeing that bloody mouth coming within range of my jugular vein. “Don't come near me!”

His eyes misted with tears. “See? This is exactly why I never tell anyone.”

“Where were you on the night of the murder?”

“I was with
you
until four o'clock,” he said.

“Oh. Right. And
then?
”

“You know where I was! Home in bed. Mimi woke me at six thirty, and we were at the twenty-four-hour clinic by seven. You can call and ask them!”

I stared at him in consternation. “Are you Lithuanian?”

“No.” His eyes widened. “You
know
about Lithuanians?”

“You're made, then?”

Based on what I had learned from Max about made vampires, I now recalled various revealing moments during the three months I had known Leischneudel—none of which had ever before struck me as noteworthy. In particular, I thought of his uncannily acute hearing.

He hesitated to answer my question, then let out his breath and nodded. “Yes, I'm a made vampire. And if you know about Lithuanians, then you know you mustn't tell anyone, Esther! It's very dangerous. They'd
kill
me!”

“You didn't get a permit?” When he shook his head, I said, “What were you
thinking?
”

“
I
didn't know what was going to happen!” he said defensively.

“What
did
happen?” I demanded.

He gave a weary sigh. “Well . . . you remember my telling you that I was very sickly growing up, right?”

“Yes.” I put a hand over my pounding heart and tried to steady my breathing.

“I was born with a congenital immunodeficiency disease. And the older I got, the more things went wrong with me. In college, I couldn't even complete the second semester of my sophomore year. I wound up dropping out of out school. I even broke up with Mary Ann. It was a very dark time for me, Esther.” He glanced hungrily at the bottle of blood on the other side of the room, and said, “And I began ... experimenting.”

“With vampirism?”

“
No
, with alcohol. Cigarettes. Marijuana. I even tried . . .” Shamefaced, he blurted, “Magic mushrooms.”

“Leischneudel!” I said in surprise.

“I know it's no excuse, but I was very depressed and angry. Anyhow, one night, I got really drunk with this guy I hardly knew, and one thing led to another . . .”

He looked so uncomfortable, I decided to just say it for him. “And you had sex.”

“
No
, he convinced me to drink some of his blood.”

“Oh!”

“He told me it would heal me. Change me. Make me strong, and healthy. He was ... very persuasive.” Leischneudel paused. “You know how some things seem like a really good idea when you've had
way
too much to drink, but then you wake up the next day and wonder what you could
possibly
have been thinking?”

“Oh,
that's
never happened to
me.
”

“At the time, I was just worried about AIDS,” he said. “It wasn't until a couple of weeks later, when I noticed I had become obsessed with
everybody's
blood, not just the blood I had drunk, that I realized something weird was happening to me. So I knew I had to face this guy again and find out exactly what he had done to me.”

“Was he Lithuanian?”

Leischneudel nodded. “It turned out he was even more appalled than I was the morning after, when he woke up sober and realized what he had done. He was also terrified. He told me he wasn't allowed to do this without special dispensation, and if anyone found out, we'd
both
be killed.”