Vampire Mine

Page 2

 

  Connors jaw dropped. Bloody hell! He leaped toward the screen and punched the buttons to record and turn up the volume.

  reached the pinnacle of my journalistic career, Corky said, motioning to her guest. It is an honor to have you on my show, Casimir. a

  Father Andrew gasped. Thats Casimir?

  Connor zipped over to the desk and hit the alarm button that emitted a sound too high-pitched for human ears. The Vamps and shifters in the fellowship hall would hear it and rush to the office within seconds.

  Connor glanced down at the dagger in his knee sock while he reached overhead to make sure his claymore was in place. Tell them I went to DVN, he told the priest, then teleported away.

  There was a big sign posted just inside the Brooklyn headquarters of the Digital Vampire Network. Auditions tonight for All My Vampires! Male romantic lead role.

  Connor frowned as he pushed his way into the crowded waiting room. Apparently, over a hundred young Vamps wanted to star in DVNs most popular soap opera. Theyd come dressed for the part, most of them in black tuxedos. Others had opted for costumes: a gladiator, a matador, a Dracula with a long silk cape. Connor wrinkled his nose at the staggering scent of cologne and hair gel.

  Hey! A young Vamp in a black trench coat and dark sunglasses nudged him. You have to get in line first to fill out the forms. He pointed a black-painted fingernail at the queue that snaked around the room.

  Connor reached overhead and pulled out his claymore. With a chorus of gasps and squeals, the lads parted like the Red Sea.

  Aw, shoot, he brought his own props, muttered a young Vamp in a cowboy costume. And that kilt looks awesome. I wish Id thought of that.

  Damn. A Mr. Darcy impersonator tugged at his lacy cravat. I knew I should have gone with the butch look.

  Connor strode toward the receptionist desk.

  The girls mouth dropped open at the sight of his drawn sword. II

  She appeared incapable of communicating in a coherent manner, so he skirted the desk and headed for the double doors behind her.

  Wait! the receptionist cried. You cant go

  Her words were cut off when the doors swung shut. He hurried down the hallway, hoping to find the recording studio before Casimir could escape. If he could kill the bloody bastard tonight, the Malcontents would scatter in disarray. Countless human lives could be saved.

  He spotted the red flashing light outside a studio and resisted the urge to rush in with a war cry. Instead, he quietly opened the door and slipped inside. It was dark by the entrance, but across the room, two dim lights illuminated the stage. Connor weaved silently around the cameras, which appeared to be turned on, although they were unmanned.

  You know I love you, a male voice whispered behind a monitor. You make me look so good.

  Connor groaned inwardly. The voice didnt belong to Casimir, but to Stone Cauffyn. Apparently, now that the Nightly News was over, the newscaster was dallying with a lover, perhaps a makeup artist who made him look good.

  Connor rounded the monitor and discovered Stone in a passionate embrace with . . . his hairbrush.

  Aagh! Stone jumped and his brush clattered onto the floor. I say, you scared the dickens out of me.

  Connor didnt know which was more bizarre: a man who used the word dickens or a man in love with his own hairbrush. Wheres Corky Courrant?

  Look what you made me do. Stone grabbed his brush off the floor and inspected it for damage. Dash it all, I could have scratched it.

  Where the hell is Corky Courrant?

  No need to use such coarse language. And I strongly suggest you put away that medieval monstrosity of a weapon. Stone turned toward the monitor where he could see his own image and ran the brush through his thick hair. I say, I do sorely miss the good old days. Regency England, dont you know? When genteel people behaved with proper etiquette and Ye bloody whoreson, tell me where Corky is!

  Stone huffed. Miss Courrant is not here. Thank God. She wanted to sully this stage with an unsavory character.

  The studio lights turned on.

  Whats going on here? A bald-headed man stood by the studio door, his hand on the light switch. He eyed Connor suspiciously. Ive called security.

  I am security, Connor replied. Wheres Corky Courrant?

  The bald-headed man sighed. This is about that stupid interview with Casimir, isnt it? I told her it would cause trouble.

  Unsavory character. Stone Cauffyn shuddered.

  Connor gave the men an incredulous look. Hes a wee bit more than unsavory. Hes a bloody terrorist.

  You think I dont know that? the bald-headed man asked. His pal Janow held people hostage in this studio. Thankfully some MacKay S and I guys showed up Hey, is that where you work?

  Aye. Connor strode toward him. Where is Corky?

  She threw a hissy fit when I said she couldnt interview Casimir here. I told her to take a few weeks off to cool down. Next thing I know, shes sending me a DVD of her interview From where? Connor interrupted.

  Before the bald-headed man could answer, he was shoved farther into the room by Angus MacKay and three other Vamps who had attended Mass at Romatech. All four of them had their swords drawn.

  Where is Casimir? Angus demanded.

  I dont know. The bald-headed man nodded toward Phineas, Ian, and Jack. I remember you guys from the Janow incident. Youre from MacKay Security and Investigation.

  Im Angus MacKay. And ye are?

  Sylvester Bacchus, station manager.

  Tell me. Angus stepped closer. Are ye aiding and abetting a known terrorist?

  No! Sylvester ran a hand over his bald head, which was gleaming under the bright lights. I told Corky I didnt want any part of it. I sent her on vacation, but then she sent me the DVD From where? Connor asked again.

  Sylvester shrugged. She didnt say. The package was postmarked California, a few days ago. Hollywood, I believe.

  I say, what a fortuitous coincidence. Stone patted his hair as he regarded himself in the monitor. There was a report that someone spotted that unsavory character in Los Angeles.

  Several nights ago, Connor muttered. Thats when the interview must have been recorded. Casimir could be anywhere by now.

  The devil take it. Angus sheathed his sword.

  Merda, Jack grumbled. I was hoping to kill him tonight.

  Yeah, Phineas agreed. And the really shitty part is that bastards back in America.

  Stone shuddered. Such coarse language. Thank God this isnt being broadcast to my listeners.

  Sod off, Connor told him.

  Humph. Stone lifted his chin and marched toward the door. Youre just jealous because your hair is unruly and barbaric.

  You mean your hair is real? Phineas asked as Stone passed by. I thought it was a rug.

  Stone gasped and ran from the studio, clutching his hairbrush to his chest. Phineas grinned and did a high five with Ian.

  Sylvester, do ye still have the envelope Corky sent? Connor asked. We need that, and the DVD she made.

  Sure. The station manager rushed out.

  Angus retrieved his cell phone from his sporran. Ill call J. L. Once we get a location in California, he can check it out.

  Connor nodded as he sheathed his sword. J. L. Wang was a fairly new Vamp, but as a former FBI special agent, he knew how to get the job done. We should check every place in America that Casimir has teleported to in the past. Those locations would be embedded in his psychic memory, so he was more likely to use them than risk an unknown destination.

  Aye, Angus agreed. Jack, go with Lara to the compound in Maine. If Casimirs there, call for backup.

  Will do. Jack teleported away.

  Ian, go to New Orleans to warn the coven there, Angus continued. Then go to Jean-Lucs place in Texas to let him know. Is the school well guarded?

  Aye, Phil is there with his werewolf lads. Ian teleported away.

  Phin
eas, I want you and Robby to check out St. Louis, Leavenworth, and those farms in Nebraska, Angus ordered. As soon as I get Corkys DVD, Ill be returning to Romatech, so call me there to report.

  Got it. Phineas teleported away.

  That leaves the campground near Mount Rushmore, Connor said quietly. The accursed place where Casimir and his minions had slaughtered innocent people twice before. The same place where Robby MacKay had been held captive and tortured. If Connor had to lay a bet, he would wager this was Casimirs favorite location in America.

  Angus sighed. I dinna want to send Robby back there.

  I understand. Connor knew what it was like to be burdened with bad memories. Ill leave right away.

  Angus reached out to stop him. Ye shouldna go alone. Drop by Romatech and take one of the shifters with you. Carlos or Howard.

  Ill be fine.

  That wasna a suggestion, Connor. It was an or

  He teleported away before Angus could finish.

  Chapter Two

  A strong wind whistled through the forest, rustling the trees and welcoming Connor with an unmistakable odorthe scent of death. Connor swore silently as he weaved among the trees. How many mortals would have to die at this campground before the place was permanently closed? Sean Whelan of the CIA had covered up the last massacre by telling the media that a flu virus was to blame. No doubt the owners had cleaned the place up and invited more happy campers. More victims for Casimir and his minions to terrorize and kill.

  Connor stood in the shadow of a large tree while he scanned the surroundings. Casimir could be long gone, or he might be hiding in the nearby caves.

  A storm was brewing, building pressure and moisture in the air. Thick gray clouds swept across the three-quarter-full moon and blotted out the stars. A banging noise echoed through the campground, an unlatched door or shutter abused by the wind.

  A sudden gust flipped his kilt up in the back, and he winced at the chilly air on his bare arse. He twisted at the waist to push his kilt down, and the wind ripped another lock of hair free from the leather tie at the nape of his neck. He hooked it behind his ear and continued his silent surveillance. Far off in the distance, he could spot the carved presidential heads of Mount Rushmore, the granite gleaming white among the dark hills. No doubt Casimir enjoyed the irony of mentally enslaving and murdering Americans so close to a monument of their strength and freedom.

  In the clearing, the wooden cabins were dark. Connor couldnt hear any sound coming from them, no moans from dying mortals, no heartbeats. He would check them later, but for now, he assumed they were empty.

  The banging noise and odor seemed to emanate from the main lodge, a rustic building made of stone and varnished logs. He sprinted toward the lodge, positioned himself next to a window, then peered inside. A large leather couch, several wooden rocking chairs, a table with a half-played game of checkers. Glowing coals in the hearth of a large stone fireplace. A homey, friendly-looking place if you didnt count the lifeless bodies on the braided rug.

  Anger and disgust roiled in his gut. There was nothing he could do. Casimir and his minions were probably gone. The bloody bastards had already done their worst.

  Still, he didnt want to be caught unprepared, so he drew his sword before teleporting inside. He checked the entire building. Empty. He latched the banging door, then returned to pay his respect to the bodies left in a neat row on the braided rug. Seven bodies. Throats slit to conceal bite marks, but not a drop of blood to stain the rug. Theyd all been drained dry. Rigor mortis had not set in, so theyd died this evening, probably soon after sunset.

  His anger grew, threatening to erupt. His grip tightened knuckle-white on the hilt of his sword. The Malcontents would have used vampire mind control on the campers to force them to submit. Two families, he assumed, since there were two sets of parents. Two lovely mothers. Three beautiful, innocent, young children. The controlled fathers would have watched helplessly while the Malcontents murdered their wives and children.

  Rage flooded him, making his heart race. Emotion this intense made the blue of his irises glow, tinting his vision with an ice-cold blue. His fists clenched with the need to kill. Please, let them still be in the caves.

  He teleported outside, his claymore raised and ready for battle.

  He would kill them. Every last one of them.

  He stormed down the dirt path that led to the nearby caves. The wind blew stronger, tossing the trees and littering the path with small branches and pinecones. Loose locks of hair whipped across his face. He shoved the strands back and glanced up at the moon. It was an eerie blue, almost completely enshrouded with thick clouds. Good. The darkness would conceal his attack. Theyd never know he was coming until his sharp blade plunged through their black hearts.

  Kill them. Kill them all.

  He halted with a sudden slap of clarity. The same cold rage. The same black night. The same icy-blue vision. The same storm-tossed trees and scent of pine. Kill them all.

  His extra-sensitive, glowing eyes stung with the biting wind. What a fool he was. Did he have no more control over his rage than hed had centuries ago? What if Casimir had fifty minions with him? A hundred? Was he so damned bloodthirsty that he would walk into a trap?

  He slipped into the woods, leaned back against a tree trunk, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths. Control yerself. His heartbeat slowed. The rage dimmed.

  He opened his eyes, and his sight was back to normal. He retrieved his cell phone from his sporran. No signal. Bugger. He didnt want to leave the area unguarded while he teleported to Romatech. He headed back toward the lodge. Still no signal. He couldnt risk sending Angus a telepathic message since any Malcontents nearby would be able to hear it.

  His gaze fell on the gleaming granite heads in the distance. Mount Rushmore. He could probably get a signal there. And hed have a birds-eye view of the entire area. If anyone ventured from the caves, hed spot them.

  The world went black for a second, then he was there, his feet making contact with solid rock. Before he could gain his bearings, a hard wind slammed into his back and shoved him forward. Damn. Hed landed too close to the edge of Washingtons forehead. He skidded to a stop as a few loose rocks skittered over the precipice.

  With his feet more firmly planted, he gazed down the mountain. Pinging noises echoed in the wind as the rocks bounced their way to the bottom. Hed come close to plummeting, but it probably wouldnt have killed him. He would have simply teleported to a safe place before hitting the ground.