Queen Of Blood Page 10

  There was a long pause from the other end. Then the man grunted and said, “Next time you won’t have the advantage of knowing my men are coming. One night when you’re sleeping they’ll slip into your room and take you. And then they’ll bring you to me. And then—”

  A soft laugh.

  And then the line went dead.

  The phone slipped out of Allyson’s hand and landed with a clatter on the floor. She stared at her shaking hand, willing it to be still again. The man’s final, implied threat had rattled her more than she would’ve expected given everything else she’d been through. The voice of cowardice rose within her again, imploring her to pick up the phone and call the man back to tell him she’d reconsidered.

  Allyson did pick up the phone. Then she stood up and smashed the delicate device against the concrete wall. The casing cracked, but that wasn’t good enough for Allyson. She wanted to destroy the thing completely, to vent her fear, frustration, and rage on this symbolic link between herself and the bad people she’d so foolishly aligned herself with all those months ago. So much had changed since those early days in Georgia. She no longer felt dead inside. The world was wide open and alive with possibilities she’d never imagined for herself. And she’d be damned if she’d allow that snide cocksucker and his threats to taint that. So she flipped the phone open. The hinge connecting the two halves of the device let go with a snap as she smashed it against the wall two more times. Then she separated the two halves with a savage twist and stood there breathing heavily for a moment.

  Then she stepped out of the stall and strode to the end of the bathroom, where she dropped the pieces of the ruined cell phone in a waste bin. She moved to the basin and examined her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but otherwise she looked okay. Definitely nothing like a woman who’d just been forced to make a potential life-and-death decision. She slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder, slid her sunglasses back on, and exited the bathroom.

  Remembering what she’d said about getting a soda, she paused at one of the vending machines and fed change through a coin slot. A can of Coke thunked into the slot. As she bent to retrieve the frosty cold can, she glanced in the direction of Chad’s car and dimly perceived a shape behind the wheel. Jim was leaning against his pickup and smoking a cigarette.

  The old man made her nervous. She was certain he suspected her of something. It was in the way he looked at her and the subtly doubting tone of his voice when he questioned her. In the aftermath of her confrontation with the intruders, he’d asked her a series of questions that made her uncomfortable. He wanted to know why she’d been up at that late hour. Wanted to know every tiny detail of how things went down. She explained everything in minute detail. It helped that much of it wasn’t made up. She’d been restless and had come into the kitchen for a late night snack, she’d told them, and that was fiction. The rest was stone cold truth.

  More or less.

  So it was aggravating that Jim clearly wasn’t buying it. This despite understanding why he was suspicious of her. She was an unknown quantity as far as he was concerned. He was a hard guy to figure out, not much at all like the wild rock-and-roll madman portrayed in movies and books. He was calmer, quiet, and coldly analytical. He’d hauled the dead men away in the bed of his pickup and disposed of them somewhere. It was chilling how unfazed he’d been by that.

  Once the cleanup chores had been completed, Jim made the offer of sanctuary at his “place in the mountains.” He made the offer explicitly to Chad, pointedly leaving her out. But Chad would only go if Allyson accompanied him. Jim acquiesced without argument, but his demeanor told the real story—he’d didn’t trust her.

  Allyson straightened and took a large gulp from the can. The cold soda felt good going down. Slightly invigorated, she set off toward Chad’s Lexus. She smiled at Jim as she passed him and he nodded, his eyes unreadable behind his dark sunglasses. Then she opened the Lexus’s passenger door and slipped inside.

  “Thanks for stopping. I feel so much better after getting—”

  Then she saw the thing propped on the dash and her voice died in her throat. It was an ID card with her picture on it. At the top in cobalt blue block letters were the words FRANKLIN SECURITY CONSULTANTS. Beneath her picture in small black type was the name Jennifer Campbell, and beneath that the title Senior Solutions Specialist.

  The back door on her side opened and someone slid into the seat behind her. The door thunked shut and Allyson detected a faint scent of tobacco. Jim. No one said anything at first. Allyson’s face reddened as sweat appeared on her forehead. The air in the car felt close and hot. The slick Coke can began to slide from her fingers. She set it in the cup holder with a shaking hand and tried to think of something—anything—to say.

  Chad cleared his throat and said, “Is there anything you want to tell us, Allyson? Or should I call you Jennifer?”

  His tone thrummed with equal measures of anger and hurt. Hearing that hurt snapped her out of the state of speechless panic. The partial admission that followed came before she could take even a moment to consider it. “I’m an ex-porn star and drug addict. Allyson Vanover is my real name. I’m from Los Angeles originally, but I ran away from my life there because it was out of control. I did twenty-four pornos in just under two years, and the ten thousand dollars is what I had left from that when I met you. I used to do so much coke my nose bled all the time and I wouldn’t sleep for days. I had to get away from that or I was going to die. Jennifer Campbell is the alias I came up with in case I needed a new identity to really start over.”

  The words had come out in a rush, tripping over the tip of her tongue like pebbles tumbling wildly down a waterfall. As with her previous explanations in the aftermath of last night’s carnage, her story now was comprised of interweaving strands of truth and fiction. And, again, much of it was truth. But she had no faith at all they would buy the whole package this time. She suspected the combination of Jim’s paranoia and Chad’s hurt feelings would conspire to put her out on the street. The thought filled her with a black despair. She’d done many bad things, but she was doing her damnedest to make up for them. The unfairness of it burned, coming so soon after taking her stand against the bad guys.

  Chad blinked slowly, his face registering shock. “Um…porno?”

  Allyson’s nod was emphatic. Her eyes were shining, imploring him to believe her. “I swear to God.” She glanced at the rearview mirror, met Jim’s stoic gaze, and looked again at Chad. “I don’t know what you guys are thinking or what you suspect, but I swear it’s fucking wrong.” A quaver entered her voice and tears began to roll from the corners of her eyes. “I’m not a bad person. I love you, Chad, and I didn’t tell you the truth about my past because I knew you wouldn’t want anything to do with someone so…trashy.”

  The tears gave way to sobs, a display of genuine emotion devoid of even the smallest hint of fakery. She had known all along the real Allyson Vanover was not the kind of person who could ever hope to move in the same circles as a Chad Robbins, much less ever hope to marry a man of his quality. And now that this part of the charade was over, she felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out.

  Jim shifted in the backseat and spoke up: “I don’t suppose you have proof to offer of the veracity of this tale?”

  Allyson’s eyes went wide and she said, “Chad! Your laptop, please get it.”

  Chad’s brow furrowed and he stared at her in a searching way for a moment. Allyson expected to see judgment in his eyes, but it didn’t seem to be there. Or maybe he was merely holding everything in for a big explosion to come. But then he sighed and got out of the car. He popped the trunk with the electronic key fob, and Allyson glanced again at Jim as she listened to the rustling sound of baggage being moved around. His sunglasses were off now and he was staring hard at her.

  She made herself hold his as gaze as she said, “I’m telling the truth.”

  Jim’s nod was barely perceptible. “I’m sure yo
u are.” Then he smiled, an expression untouched by humor. “But I don’t think you’re telling all of the truth.”

  Allyson looked away from those cold eyes. “I’m not lying. You’ll see.”

  Jim didn’t reply.

  Chad returned to the car, sliding back behind the wheel and moving his seat back before flipping open the laptop. The computer came out of hibernation mode, its screen a bright glare in the sunlight. Chad tapped some keys and said, “Lucky us, there’s a wireless network in range. We’re connected.” He glanced at Allyson. “What are we looking for?”

  Allyson swallowed hard before replying. She didn’t want Chad to see the things she was about to show him. But she knew she’d been left with no choice. “Do a Google image search on Sinthia Fox. That’s S-i-n-t-h-i-a Fox.”

  Her fingernails etched grooves in her palms as Chad tapped the keys. The search immediately produced pages of results. And though the glare of the sun obscured the shameful images somewhat, she was able to see enough to know she’d delivered her promised proof. Her hair had been a darker shade of blonde then, the sandy shade that was her natural color, and the makeup she’d worn for the movies and photo shoots had been starkly whorish and slutty. But it was her. Chad stared at the thumbnail pictures without saying anything for long moments before clicking on one that showed her fellating a dildo. He winced at the enlarged image and flipped the laptop shut. Then he looked up and stared straight ahead, eyes focusing on nothing at all.

  “I’m sorry, Chad.” Allyson’s voice sounded small, defeated. “I understand if you kick me out now.”

  Chad finally looked at her again. She saw pain in his expression. The withering aspect of judgment she expected was still missing. “I’m not kicking you out.” His voice was softer now, entirely devoid of the rage and implied accusations of before. “I wish you’d told me the truth before. It would’ve saved us all some grief. But I understand why you didn’t. It’ll take me a while to come to terms with this, but I want you to know that I care about you, too.” He indicated the closed laptop with a nod. “I know how hard it must have been for you to show me those…things.”

  He reached out to her, stroked her cheek with the back of a hand, and Allyson melted inside. She grabbed his hand and held on for dear life. “I’m so sorry. Chad, I’m so sorry.”

  Jim said, “I take it you’re satisfied, Chad?”

  Allyson blinked her tears away and watched Chad as he hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah, Jim. I’m satisfied.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Jim opened the rear door and swung his legs out. He paused before getting the rest of the way out. “I trust you, friend, and if you choose to place your trust in this woman, I’ll abide by that. But we’re going to a place I can’t afford to compromise. We’ll stop ahead of arriving there and blindfold young Allyson. She’ll ride the rest of the way in with me. That condition is non-negotiable. Understood?”

  Allyson answered before Chad had a chance to open his mouth. “Understood. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Jim nodded. “Good.”

  He departed without another word, throwing the door shut and returning to his pickup. Allyson settled back into her seat and felt her eyes flutter shut. There was so much else she wanted to say to Chad about her old life in California, so much she needed to explain, but she didn’t have the energy now.

  Darkness took her as the Lexus followed the old Ford back to the highway.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Giselle Burkhardt opened her eyes in darkness. She was back. She felt the cold steel of the cage beneath her bottom. Giselle sat upright and grasped the bars of her prison. Then she pulled them apart as easily as a child deconstructing a clumsily assembled Lego building, the steel yielding with stunning ease to her strength. She climbed out of the cage and dropped to the floor. Instinct guided her to the room’s only point of egress, a place where the texture of reality was thinner and more susceptible to the manipulation of magic. She splayed her hands on the cool stone wall and focused her will.

  It was easy.

  A door formed in the wall. It swung open before her and she stepped into a large room that was a precise replica of the Master’s old chambers. The door closed behind her, its outline vanishing instantly. An odd sense of peace settled within her as she surveyed the uncannily familiar surroundings. Giselle had emerged from her dank and freezing prison a changed woman. It was as if she’d shed an old skin with her passage back through Azaroth’s portal. The missing parts of her body had been restored, obviously, but there was an inner change as well.

  The murder of Eddie and his woman seemed to have erased the last traces of her conscience. She was no longer a redeemed sinner. There was fresh blood on her hands. Innocent blood. She’d taken it willingly, even eagerly. So she was no longer afraid to shrink from the core truth about herself. She was a murderer. A sadist. And by killing Eddie she’d unleashed the tamed beast she’d kept hidden in the darkest part of her soul f or so long.

  She thought of Eddie and tried to feel some trace of her former feelings for him, but those feelings now seemed as dead as he was.

  She had done it fast, sprinting across the apartment’s living room floor toward the oblivious couple seated on the sofa. They were watching a movie and laughing. Their arms were around each other, the woman’s head on Eddie’s shoulder. Giselle gripped a handful of Eddie’s hair and yanked his head back. Eddie gagged as his eyes rolled up to look at her. His woman screamed. There was a moment of recognition in Eddie’s terrified expression. His eyes may have expressed pain over the betrayal. The knife slashed across his throat, blood leaping from the gash as Eddie’s woman disengaged herself from the dying man and tumbled to the floor. She got to her feet and ran for the door. Giselle hurried after her, moving with the speed and grace of a wolf. Unnatural, unhuman speed. She gripped the screaming woman by the shoulder, spun her around, and slammed her against the door. Then she drove the knife through yielding flesh, plunging it in just below the sternum. The woman screamed and thrashed some more, but Giselle held her in place with a strong hand to the throat. She held the knife in place a moment, coldly holding her agonized gaze, then yanked it out and thrust it in again to the hilt. The woman died and Giselle returned to Eddie and drank blood from his still-bubbling wound, knowing the obscenity would further honor Azaroth and the other death gods.

  Killing the woman hadn’t been strictly necessary. But it had seemed the right thing to do. So she had killed the woman, a primal, reptilian part of her enjoying the act of senseless murder. She had a feeling Azaroth and the other death gods would appreciate the additional blood offering. And even in the midst of those savage moments she’d known that something within her had changed forever.

  Now, standing here in Ms. Wickman’s lovingly recreated version of the Master’s chambers, Giselle understood that other things had also changed, including her immediate plans for the future. The things she wanted now were no longer the things she’d coveted prior to summoning Azaroth.

  A full-length oval mirror on a swivel-stand caught her attention. She walked over to it and a ppraised her reflection. She was as flawless as ever, her flesh porcelain-white, body slender and shapely. Her face was delicately beautiful, almost angelic, with exquisitely fine lines and angles that belied her capacity for savagery. Her long hair was jet-black and straight, a shimmering raven mane that starkly contrasted her pale flesh.

  Giselle smiled. She looked good.

  Better than ever, in fact.

  She turned from the mirror and moved past the large four-poster bed to the French doors at the end of the room. One of the doors was standing open. Giselle moved through it and stood on a long balcony. She moved to the edge of the balcony, braced her hands on the metal rail and looked down. The vista that unfurled below took her breath away. The balcony was high in the air, maybe as much as a half mile above the ground. The landscape beneath was a pockmarked, blasted place. The red terrain made her think of pictures she’d seen of the
surface of Mars. She spied a big bonfire in the distance and a thick haze of black smoke rising toward the horizon. Teams of men in black hoods worked together to haul huge stones of varying chiseled shapes in the direction of the bonfire. Other men with machine guns and whips prodded them onward.

  These activities were likely connected to Ms. Wickman’s own efforts to appease—and draw power from—the death gods. The thought made Giselle smile. Ms. Wickman was powerful and ruthless, but she did not have Azaroth on her side.

  Giselle turned away from the tableau of horrors and returned to the bedroom. This time she went directly to the bed and spread herself across the plush and luxuriant feather mattress. She let out a low groan of satisfaction and rolled across the mattress a time or two, reveling in the decadent cradle of comfort. Then she repositioned herself, propping her head on the plump pillows and staring up at the heavy velvet canopy.

  She heard a cough and turned her head to see a bare-chested man with a studded leather collar around his throat. The man was lean and sinewy, the exposed flesh of his torso a map of scars and abrasions. He stared at Giselle with eyes that were wide with fear and confusion.

  Giselle eyed him coldly. “Stop your gawking, boy, and go fetch your Mistress.”

  The man flinched as if slapped, then turned and hurried across the room. He tripped and tumbled to the floor, smacking his head against a marble pedestal. A sculpted bust of someone Giselle failed to recognize rolled off the pedestal and split in half as it struck the floor. The man scrambled to his feet and resumed his flight from the room.

  Giselle closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift. It was amazing how at peace she felt now. Life was so much easier minus the tiresome complications of moral concerns. The apparent obliteration of her conscience did not alarm her. One risked these things when making deals with gods, especially of the darker variety. She fell into a sleep state, entering a dream in which she sat on a high throne made of gold. An audience of slaves knelt in rows below her, chanting, their arms extended in praise of their queen.