D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

Chapter Five

RAPHAEL STOOD behind his desk, staring out through a wall of arched windows to the wide ocean beyond. A full moon rode the sky; the gently rolling waves shimmered silver in its light. It was a pale cousin to the glory of sunlight, but the only celestial light he would ever see again. The vampire paused, puzzled by his own musings. He rarely thought of such things and wondered why it came to mind now. The door opened behind him to admit Duncan.

“Lonnie has arrived, my lord.”

Raphael remained silent a moment longer, then turned to take the seat behind his desk. “Show him in.”

“My lord.” Duncan bowed his head briefly, slipping out of the room to return a few moments later, Lonnie Mater in tow.

Normally the picture of good cheer, tonight Lonnie was uncharacteristically silent, subdued, like a small animal remaining quiet beneath the gaze of a predator, hoping to escape notice. An apt comparison. He was an unremarkable man of medium height, pleasant looking, but nothing too dramatic. He’d been a movie producer when Raphael found him, a man with little success, but many contacts, the perfect vehicle for the vampire lord’s insertion into Hollywood society.

The former producer bowed from the waist, a surprisingly elegant gesture from an American who’d never had to learn the skill. “Sire,” he said quietly. “I am yours to command.”

In spite of the grim circumstances, Raphael regarded him with some amusement. For all the man’s extravagant ways, he was no fool. Lonnie might not know exactly what was going on, but he was smart enough to recognize something deadly serious was in the air and to maximize his chances of surviving whatever it was.

“Have a seat, Lonnie.”

Lonnie glanced up, a glimmer of his true personality lighting his expression for the first time. “Thank you, my lord.”

Raphael studied him somberly. Hollywood was an ideal place for vampires. There were gatherings of one sort of another almost every night and the greater city of Los Angeles was enormous and still growing, with millions of people spread out over what would have been an unthinkable distance only a few decades ago. Lonnie managed a house for Raphael right on the beach in Malibu, hosting night after night of parties and providing a steady source of blood for Raphael’s staff, including Lonnie. Raphael himself rarely attended, and then only if his presence was required for some other purpose, like genuine business involving his Hollywood investments. Otherwise, a careful selection of donors was ferried here to the estate and returned before dawn to wake up back where they started. They were all perfectly willing participants, and none of them ever remembered a thing, except a great party, great sex, and a particularly bad hangover. One of Lonnie’s jobs was seeing that none of the other vampires . . . overindulged.

Although they maintained a low profile, the existence of vampires was discreetly acknowledged by those in government and business, even courted by some with an ax to grind or a project to fund. And Hollywood loved nothing more than that little hint of danger, that slight whiff of daring vampires represented in human society. They were the ultimate bad boys—and girls—in a town that pretended to be rebels while driving their solid SUVs home to their safe neighborhoods behind sturdy gates.

Lonnie crossed his legs nervously and Raphael gestured for Duncan to pour some wine.

“You had dealings with a private investigator some time back, Lonnie. A woman.”

Lonnie uncrossed his legs and sat up, startled at the unexpected subject. “I did, Sire. Cynthia Leighton. Former LAPD. Her father’s Harold Leighton. He’s got some real bucks, mostly financial investments. She, uh . . . she saved my life.”

Raphael leaned forward. “And how was that?”

“There was a bust at a club downtown. The owner was dealing drugs in the back room. Cops came in and swept up everybody. Cynthia was with the task force. They dragged all of us down to the station . . . mostly for appearances, I think. Sort of a “look at us, we’re arresting rich people” thing. Election year and all. The cops didn’t even book most of us. They released almost everyone except the owners and a couple of customers unlucky enough to be in on the deal when the cops broke in. Me, I had nothing to do with it. Don’t do drugs, never have. A nice scotch, a glass of wine, that’s something else, but no drugs. Not for me. Uh, anyway . . .”

He cleared his throat anxiously, hurrying on when Raphael gave him a bored look. “One of the cops was a son of a bitch. Took one look at me and decided he was going to earn his next star. Planted me in a holding cell right beneath a skylight, figured to leave me there for the sun.” Lonnie shook his head in disgust. “Cynthia saw what he was doing and hauled me outta there. Got in a real stand-up with the asshole. It wasn’t long after that she quit and went into business for herself. I’ve sent quite a few customers her way. Figure I owe her, plus she gives good value.”

Raphael nodded silently. He glanced at Duncan, then spun his chair around and watched the silver waves dance in the darkness. He heard Lonnie take a sip of his wine and set the glass back down. Duncan didn’t move, but Raphael could picture his lieutenant watching him, wondering what he had planned.

He stood in a sudden decisive motion, followed a split second later by Lonnie, who jumped from his chair almost reflexively.

“I want you to call your Ms. Leighton, Lonnie. You’ll be paying her a visit tonight.” He waved his hand in dismissal.

Duncan ushered Lonnie from the room, closing the door after him and turning back to Raphael.

“I would not question your judgment, Sire, but . . . a human?”

Raphael smiled slightly. “Albin did not act alone in this, Duncan. I know him very well. He thinks only of himself. Yes, he was restless with the task I assigned him, but he would not aspire so high as to attempt to seize power from me. His dreams are far meaner. And Alexandra, no one would take her but to torment me . . . or to lure me into a trap. We have a snake in our nest, Duncan, but it is not Albin, or not Albin alone. He is merely a tool, and most likely a tool to be discarded after serving his purpose. Someone is making a play to overthrow me, and they are shrewd enough to have made this first move without my agents picking up even a whisper such a thing was imminent. Albin is not so clever.”

“But the humans, Sire—”

“Their first mistake, Duncan, using humans. Humans are weak and will readily turn on one another, if properly persuaded. It takes only hope, such a fragile thing, hope that their own lives will be spared, to make them tell their secrets. They do cling to life; perhaps because they have so few years. After all this time, I have lost the ability to understand them. And that, Duncan, is why I will bring in this human woman. She understands her own kind and will track down these human pawns for me. If Alexandra is my weakness—and I’ve no doubt they think she is—then these humans are theirs. Give me just one human and I will learn all I need to know about who is behind this and where to find them. There is human connivance in this and it is human cunning that will untangle it.”