The Renfield Syndrome

  It felt as if I’d entered some surreal version of New York Hell as I sipped on a small canteen of water—eating crackers, meat and cheese—while sitting in front of the New York Public Library. Pigeons were long gone, migrating to better locations to scrounge for food. I didn’t really blame them. There were no crumbs left behind by messy eaters for them to scavenge, or overfull garbage cans to investigate.

  The entire area was as vacant as the roads we’d passed.

  I studied the stairs leading to the library. So when Carter exited with several books in hand, I was able to make a hasty departure. I fisted my reusable plastic baggie and jumped to my feet to retreat to the bus parked on the curb. It wasn’t hard since my path was clear. I’d kept myself distant from all of the men throughout the day—and they’d done the same—which meant I had a direct exit to safety.

  Safety, I thought, how laughable.

  One thing—and one thing only—had been consistent throughout the day.

  Ugh.

  I recognized the look Carter had given me before we left the building now. Granted, I hadn’t noticed it at first due to my circumstances. However, as I’d caught him peering in long possessive stretches in my direction over the hours, I’d grown to understand what he wanted. I’m not sure how I missed it before, but I contributed my substandard attention span, as well as my completely non-existent sexual interest in other men thanks to a vampire I got horizontal with on a regular basis.

  Carter wanted more than quality time to show me the light.

  A lot more.

  He called out for me halfway to my destination, but I pretended not to notice.

  I made haste to the empty bus and rushed for my vacant seat near the front. I plopped down and lowered my entire body until I was practically invisible. Then I brought my knees up and arched my back into an upright fetal position. Maybe I’d get lucky. Maybe he’d go away.

  If I could have made myself disappear, I would have.

  “It’s no use, Rhiannon.” His deep voice resonated inside the bus, and I listened as he climbed up. “I saw you. Come on out.”

  I mentally steeled myself, determined to keep my face blank.

  When he appeared in my line of sight, I focused on the odd swirling pattern embedded into the fake leather booth directly in front of me. He perched on the edge of the seat across the way, much like he had the night he’d intercepted me. When I didn’t look at him, he sorted through the books he held in hand.

  Sweet baby Jesus. Just go away!

  “You said Brontë was a favorite, right?”

  As he passed the novel over, I noticed it was indeed a Brontë work, but not a personal favorite. I accepted the copy of Wuthering Heights with a jerky nod and an unladylike grunt, keeping my face forward.

  “That’s not the right one, is it?” He didn’t seem insulted, his abnormally husky voice tinged with amusement. When I didn’t respond, his fingers snaked around my left wrist. “Come on. I’ll take you back inside and you can pick your poison. We don’t travel to this area often, and I can’t promise we’ll be back anytime soon.”

  I almost told him I was illiterate but found myself shrieking, “That’s okay,” when he tried to pull me from the seat. I leaned back in the opposite direction. “This works.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Come on. Last chance.”

  Carter pulled me from the seat and guided me from the bus. I fell in line as he led me up the stairs to the library. What else could I do? I couldn’t fight him and I couldn’t run. I was stuck in a shitty predicament.

  It was creepy as we walked past the non-secured door and climbed stairs that were covered with a mild slathering of mildew and dust. I’d never seen the place empty. Carter didn’t release his grip on my arm until we neared the third floor. Then he let go and allowed me to hobble on my own as we entered the McGraw Rotunda.

  My favorite ghost, Zippo, wasn’t in her normal place in front of the Moses mural. Instead, I saw her wandering aimlessly along the hallway. Her brown skirt was just as neat as I remembered, her white top drifting with her movements. She turned as we neared and stared in our direction. She’d noticed the intrusion. She’d known I was there because I was a necromancer.

  Spirits were nothing if not routine.

  I pointed down the hall, in the direction of the ladies’ room. “I need to take five. Is that possible?”

  Carter grinned, and the effect it had was incredible.

  Shit.

  He was boyishly charming when relaxed, bordering on hocking adorable. Warning bells in my head insisted I depart immediately, so I did. I swiveled on my heel and made a hasty break for the bathroom. I was curious about the electricity that continued to work throughout the building, which was only interrupted by random flickers and spurts, but my questions could wait.

  The time for answers would come later.

  After I figured out what in the hell I was going to do.

  Only a few fluorescent bulbs had withstood the test of time in the lavatory and even then, the bathroom was dimly lit. I went to the sink and tested the knobs. I released a sigh of bliss when clean and clear water sputtered from the faucet. I cupped my hands and collected the cool liquid in my palms. I splashed my face repeatedly, finding comfort with each handful of chilled water. I tried to calm my rattled nerves.

  Still, my skin bristled as I remembered the looks I’d been receiving from Carter.

  Apparently blood wasn’t the only rarity in this Tales from the Crypt version of the demented future—so were women. I thought back to the random faces at the Prospect Village—Carter’s fortress of doom. There had been females throughout and most of them had bodies like Jackson, built Ford Tough. Yet the ratio of men to women residents had definitely been one-sided. I was willing to wager that the entire two women to every man equation had taken a back seat in recent years.

  You’ll sort this out. Take a deep breath and think.

  Lifting my head and opening my eyes, I peered into the mirror.

  “Rhiannon Murphy.” Zagan’s androgynous face sneered at me through the glass as the edges of the mirror distorted and rippled. “We meet again.”

  “Holy fuck!” I screamed and backed away.

  Zagan’s opalescent eyes hadn’t changed, remaining odd in their luminescence. The color of the pupil shifted like water drifting along the surface of oil, creating a dizzying rainbow collage of orange, yellow and red. Just behind the demon was the desert I’d seen during our last meeting, the swirling sand creating small whirling tornados in the distance. Zagan was clothed in the same unisex attire, the crisp white shirt impeccable, brown slacks hanging loosely across its hips.

  It bared pearly white teeth and hissed, “You have something that belongs to me.”

  I immediately touched the solid lump under my turtleneck and was rewarded with a steady thrum of power. So he’d come for the amulet. Why wasn’t I surprised?

  “Give it back.” Zagan snarled and black smears formed around the demon’s temples, marring the perfection of its skin. “We had a deal.”

  “No,” I snarled back at the creature. My own outrage surfaced as I remembered exactly what Zagan had done. I wasn’t sure why the amulet had returned to me, but I’d kill myself before I handed it over to it a second time. “You twisted the terms of the contract without my consent, sending me to this sadistic Hell. You can kiss my ass.”

  “Do not be angry over a deal of your own making. You agreed to the terms.”

  “No.” I embraced that inner lick of anger as it raced under my sternum, lighting a fire under my skin. “I didn’t.”

  “It matters not.” Zagan brushed aside my fury with ease. “The debt that was once Gabriel Trevillian’s has now been cast to you. I demand the amulet as payment due.”

  Chest heaving, I reminded the demon, “You haven’t given me the opportunity to deliver my message. I don’t owe yo
u shit.”

  “My dear, sweet child.” Zagan crowed, the laughter high pitched and painful. It tossed its head back, sending strands of liquid bronze churning across what appeared to be starched cotton. “Dear, foolish, human.”

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded, taking another shaky step back.

  “Gabriel Trevillian is no more,” Zagan informed me between crazed cackles. “He departed this world a long time ago. You cannot deliver a message to a dead man.”

  A dead man…

  Stillness came, an odd folding and distorting of time.

  Everything froze in the instant my heart ceased beating.

  No. Please no. Then I knew it was true. That’s what’s wrong.

  The coldest chill routed through my skin and coursed through my veins, numbing the world around me. No wonder I couldn’t feel Disco as I always did. That was why his absence was so incredibly painful and profound. I didn’t have to argue or demand proof. I felt his loss. I’d felt it the moment I crossed into this damnable future but hadn’t been able to decipher what it meant.

  He’s gone.

  That was why I couldn’t feel some part of him.

  That was why my dreams were hindered by nightmares.

  If Disco had been alive, he’d never allow such a thing, no matter the distance between us. It was a promise he’d made to me not so long ago.

  I sank to the floor, warm trails of agony streaking down my face.

  “Don’t fret, pet.” Zagan cooed, and the sound caused me to cringe. “Return the amulet to me, and I will end your suffering. I give you my word.”

  My tongue was heavy and thick as I swallowed and heard a loud crackle in my head. The noise broke me from the confines of grief. Disco had been taken from me, long before I was ready to let him go, and the cause of our lost time together was right in front of me.

  Son of a demon bitch.

  I lifted my eyes, meeting Zagan’s ecstatic expression. I’d choke on the fucking amulet before I returned the cursed relic to it. “No.”

  I exhaled, clutching at my shirt to locate the amulet the demon had come for, and twined my fingers around the rounded shape through the thin cotton. I gasped at the corresponding tingle of power that spread through my fingers, heated my palm and seeped up my arm. Dear lord, I’d never felt anything like it.

  “Do not fuck with me, ghost purveyor!” Zagan brayed, glowering at me. “Accept your destiny. Do as I say. Give me what is rightfully mine, or I will rip out your spine!”

  The ripples in the mirror extended, warping the edges of the frame, and the demon slid past the surface. The stink of sulfur burned my nose and covered the small area, surrounding me in waves of heat. Zagan had leapt clear of the mirror and started forward when the bathroom door crashed open, sending chips of plaster, paint and wood scattering across the floor.

  My eyes jerked toward the sound.

  Carter’s sidearm was out, the barrel level on the demon. “Get away from her.”

  “This matter doesn’t concern you.” Zagan snarled, displaying teeth. “Leave.”

  “I said…” Carter’s furious voice dipped an octave, and he growled each word distinctly, with an open warning. “Get. Away. From. Her.”

  “Rhiannon Murphy has something that belongs to me.” Zagan didn’t seem fazed by Carter or the gun. “I will not leave until she delivers it into my keeping.”

  “Hand it over, Rhiannon,” Carter ordered and advanced into the room. “Peddling in demon magic carries a death sentence among us.”

  “No,” I repeated, staring Zagan in the eye. “The demon can go fuck itself.”

  That did it.

  Zagan advanced, and so did Carter.

  They clashed in a horrific display of muscle and strength.

  Zagan’s slight frame and clean-cut appearance was deceptive. The demon was equally matched, engaging Carter easily. The gun slid free of Carter’s fingers and clacked loudly against the tiled floor, spinning as it sped across the way to rest against the far wall. I scrambled for it, kicking out with the soles of my feet as I scurried on my hands. I crab-walked toward the gun on my palms and heels.

  A loud crash erupted from behind me, but I didn’t turn.

  When I reached the weapon, I wrapped my hand around the comforting grip of the gun. Unexpectedly, I felt fingers twine into my hair. A hard yank caused a few strands to snap free.

  “You will deliver the amulet into my keeping this time—of your own free will,” Zagan thundered. “It was smart on your part. You handed it over without informing me you’d initiated a blood rite. You’re more intelligent than I gave you credit for, mortal. I believed you completely ignorant of the workings around you.”

  The next crack I heard came courtesy of my skull making solid contact with the wall. The room went out of focus, my eyes seeing everything in a hazy and confusing blur. Turning my head, I glimpsed a flash of camouflage—Carter. For a moment, I thought his clothing was tearing apart, separated as his body contorted, grew and reformed into something I’d never encountered before, something that was definitely not a man.

  It wasn’t possible, was it? It couldn’t be…

  I blinked rapidly, trying to bring the room into focus.

  Zagan’s breath was hot against my cheek, its clawed nails biting into my skin, but Carter was the one who held my undivided attention. He changed within seconds, becoming something terrifying.

  Holy shit.

  Thick, dark hair covered his grotesque body, his limbs, torso and thighs disproportionate and unnaturally large. His face was no longer human, replaced by a broad snout and a multitude of razor-sharp teeth. The human hands I had once observed were now furry, his much longer fingers now clawed. He was more beast than man, more human than wolf, a mixture of something in between. The deafening roar that tore from his throat was horrifying—like a bear or lion facing certain death and emitting a final, chilling battle cry. A sharp, undeniable tendril of terror started at the back of my neck and traveled down my spine.

  I was far less terrified of Zagan in that moment than I was of Carter.

  Carter crossed the distance faster than I would have ever imagined possible. He grasped Zagan by the throat and threw the demon into the mirror above the sinks.

  It gave me just enough time to get the fuck out of Dodge.

  Water exploded from the gaping holes created when Zagan’s body struck the wall. Two sinks tore free, drenching my clothing and the surrounding tile in a tidal wave of cold water. I grasped the solid butt of the gun, staggered across the slippery floor and bolted for the obliterated remains of the door.

  I had to get away from the chaos behind me.

  “Less than a fortnight!” Zagan screeched as glass shattered; the noises somehow seemed to go hand in hand. “You have ten days remaining to pay my due! Then I will own your fucking soul!”

  The time meant little to me—something I was aware of but didn’t truly think about. Truthfully, the roadblock was another crack in the eggs I was continually dancing on. Initially, all I could hear was fighting. Then, strangely, the noises stopped and there was only silence.

  Gone were the outraged roars and ear-piercing hisses.

  All I could hear were the rubber soles of my Nikes as they made contact with the floor. I ran, keeping my arms extended to maintain a steady balance. If my knee hurt, I couldn’t feel it. My mind was too numbed, my heart too goddamned heavy. The sounds of footsteps behind me sent me into an uncontrollable panic.

  I lunged for the stairs, started down and lost my balance midway.

  I hit different parts of my body as I fell—my thighs, my hips, my sides, my arms—and collapsed in a wadded heap at the base of the staircase. Whatever touched my shoulder sent me into blind terror. I lashed out with my fists, swinging the gun in jagged, cutting thrashes.

  It was do or die, and I was not going to face
the oblivion.

  Not here.

  Not now.

  Not alone.

  Warm hands encased my biceps and dragged me toward a solid chest. In seconds, those same hands stilled my wild movements. I was aware of a steady rocking, the motion deliberate and calm. Then, the most softly spoken words—words that didn’t make any sense—were whispered into my ear. Something stroked my drenched hair over and over again. I dissolved into gut-wrenching sobs, unable to bear the suffocating weight of anguish. I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I gulped for air, drawing greedy pulls of oxygen into my lungs.

  “Don’t cry,” an unexpected, feminine voice whispered.

  My breath caught and my heart stalled. Cautiously, I lifted my head and peered past the shoulder protecting my trembling body. I met the understanding eyes of Zippo. She wasn’t looking through me, but at me. She nodded, and for the first time I was able to perceive her as an entity and not an anomaly.

  Then they came.

  The ghosts of the New York Public Library surrounded me, and with them came an unforeseen surge of power, solidarity and comfort. Their stares were not sightless and their faces were no longer blank. The focus of their attention was apparent, their pity and understating resting solely on me. The heaviness of my burden lifted, no longer so difficult to bear.

  Nothing ever truly died. I knew that.

  Zippo seemed pleased by my reaction. “You see clearly now.”

  “Yes,” I replied softly. “I do.”

  Carter’s questioning voice interrupted us. “Rhiannon?”

  I turned away from the gazes of those I’d never truly seen until now and peered into the face of what was now a man—not a beast—holding me. I didn’t know what Carter was, and I didn’t care. It didn’t concern me. Something far more important was at stake now. I had people to see, things to do and a debt to sever.

  “You’re going to have to let me go,” I informed him in a feather-light voice, enforced by the one thing I needed most.

  Hope.

  Chapter Four

  The tingling, salty spray of the ocean surf caressed my face and drifted through my hair as the radiant sun heated my skin. Closing my eyes and tilting my head into the beams, I breathed in the heavy air mingled with particles of sand. The weight of humidity solidified the space around me, embracing me, holding me aloft. I was in the place Disco always brought me when I needed security and a soft place to fall—my own refuge in the world of dreams.