Grave Expectations - Jess Vandermire 4 Page 2

  She smiled. “You don’t catch and release bugs.”

  He grinned. “Maybe not, but it was worth saying it to get you to smile.”

  “I don’t deserve you.” She forced herself to turn away from him and grab her gear. He waited while she repositioned her blade in her holster and flicked her long brown hair over her shoulders.

  “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” he said.

  “Sure you don’t want me to come along?” she asked, quirking one eyebrow at him and hearing his pulse quicken. He might be trying to convince her he wasn’t interested in a romp this evening, but his heart rate told her differently.

  “Thanks, but if I do find them, they’re more likely to be forthcoming if I’m alone.”

  “You’re probably right,” she said, but again, she didn’t like it.

  “I’ll figure this thing out. After all, I have a vested interest in getting our lives back on track,” he said.

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  He nodded. “If I do find something, I’ll keep going until I get what I need. You might not hear from me for a while.”

  “Okay, see you later,” she said, wiggling her fingers in a flirty wave.

  The second he left, her arm dropped like a weight and she paced around her room—a caged tigress damned to perdition.

  Especially since he’d forgotten to recite the prayers that maintained her tiny remnant of humanity. He’d never done that until recently, and with Regent whisked away in the night to the Vatican, there was no one to pray for her wretched soul.

  With fingers pressed against her temples, she recited a dozen prayers out loud. But she felt nothing—not even a tiny sensation.

  The fact that Britt had forgotten to pray for her again tonight made her wonder how much he’d changed since his miraculous revival from death. Would he still love her if he continued to change? Or would she become just another vampire to vaporize?

  After donning her leather jacket, she straightened her shoulders and pursed her lips. Britt’s cologne lingered in her room, reminding her that she had faith in him. She just needed to hold on a little longer.

  Hunger gnawed at her, luring the beast to the surface. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to see she’d transformed into something as ugly on the outside as she was inside. Her eyes would be merciless black coals and her teeth deadly fangs ready to strike.

  Unfortunately, with the inner darkness came a sultry sweet, exhilarating rush each and every time. It took steely resolve to ride the wave and emerge on the other side, partial soul intact.

  She snatched a handful of ice-cold blood packets from the fridge. Cold because drinking warm blood reminded her of sucking the life from the one and only person she’d ever turned into a vampire, her ex-partner James. That, and the lack of warmth in the blood pushed back her bloodlust long enough for her to get a firmer grip on her tiny thread of humanity while she fed.

  Tonight, she drank three packets of blood instead of her usual two.

  A few minutes later, she ended up in the living room with its pristine white ultra-modern leather furniture, expensive paintings on the walls, and meaningless knickknacks that added splashes of red, black, and gold. All too perfect for a vampire with no soul.

  Damnation! She had to pull herself out of this malaise or else she’d slip beyond the safety of accumulated prayers—and the realm of John Brittain’s touch.

  The phone rang beside her, and she grabbed the handset like it was a lifeline. “Hello?”

  “Jess, my love. I’m at the airport. Can you come and get me?” Regent’s blessed voice reached her ears.

  She gripped the phone too tight, causing the plastic to snap, but not break. The big guy still answered her after all. “Regent? You okay? What happened in Rome? Why were you there?”

  Silence.

  “Regent?”

  “I’ll explain what I can when you come get me.” He sounded tired. Probably jet-lagged.

  “I’m so glad you’re back,” she said.

  “Get your butt out of that apartment and make tracks, then,” he said, weariness evident in his words.

  “On my way.”

  “Oh, Jess … bring Britt with you,” he said, before she could hang up.

  She frowned. “I can’t. He’s not here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s trying to find answers.”

  “Still nothing, huh?”

  “No. But he’s starting to remember little things. He’s hoping it will lead him to something concrete soon.”

  “I pray he finds the answers he needs,” Regent said. “We all need to know what happened to him. The sooner, the better.”

  The truth was that Regent was afraid Britt might hurt her, too. She wanted to deny that possibility, but what was the sense? Both men believed Britt might be a risk to her. They needed facts. Answers.

  Deep down, her gut feeling told her Britt loved her and he would never hurt her.

  “Why did the Vatican summon you?” More like kidnap, but she didn’t say it.

  “We’ll discuss that in person when I see you. But don’t worry, I’m still a priest.”

  Even though he’d reassured her, something sounded off in his voice. Still, he was home. That, at least, was something she was very thankful for.

  Chapter Two

  WITHOUT WARNING, John Brittain’s nerve endings buzzed as if he’d been jacked up on a gallon of joe. He’d been traipsing down sidewalks for at least two hours without any luck. But now that he’d wandered into this part of the city, where the sounds of nightlife were muted and the alleys dark maws of palpable danger, where rodents scurried and insects clicked, his skin virtually crawled.

  Big tough vampire hunter. “Get a frigging grip, man,” he said out loud, then realized there was no way he’d find the place if he kept using the analytical grid method. He needed to ignore his cop sense and follow his gut. With that in mind, he started walking and taking corners at random. The streets he knew well fell away, and before long, he was in unknown territory, which was strange because he thought he knew every inch of this city.

  Somehow, he’d managed to get himself lost. Hell, he might as well give up for the night. After rubbing some grit out of his eye, he checked his watch. Midnight.

  Suddenly, he froze and craned his neck back for another look.

  Staring down at him from the side of a brick building was an unusual half gargoyle, half angel statue. How could he have forgotten this landmark?

  This was the place he’d been searching for. Holy hell!

  There were no discernible markings on the building, so he had no idea what to expect. He walked up and held his finger on the doorbell for a couple of seconds longer than was polite.

  Considering the chanting he’d remembered, it didn’t surprise him when a monk opened the extra large oak door. “Yes?”

  “My name’s John Brittain. Do you remember me?”

  The monk vehemently shook his head. “It’s late. You should go,” he said, and started to shut the door.

  Britt shoved his foot into the opening. “You should remember me. I died. You brought me back.”

  The monk forced a laugh. “That’s not humanly possible.”

  Who said anything about human? “But here I am,” Britt said, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the people who’d saved his life would act as if they’d never seen him. “I have the coroner’s death report, if you need proof.”

  The rotund man in brown potato-sack-looking vestments looked suddenly anguished, rather than worried about Britt’s sanity. “It’s late,” he said, glancing quickly over his shoulder.

  “You do know me, don’t you? Your voice is familiar,” Britt said, closing his eyes for a moment and recalling this man’s gruff voice trying to soothe him during one of his more torturous bouts of reanimation.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know you, sir. I’ve never seen you before,” the monk sai
d. It was then Britt noticed two more monks lurking in the shadows of the courtyard. Possibly the reason this monk wouldn’t talk?

  “That’s disappointing news, Brother. Listen, if you change your mind or if anyone else in the monastery would like to speak to me, here’s my card.” He flipped a business card forward between two fingers. For a moment, he thought the monk might refuse, but after making serious eye contact, the guy reluctantly took it.

  “Thank you for your time,” Britt said.

  The monk looked extremely relieved when Britt made motions to leave.

  “Good night,” he said, not trying to cover the relief evident in his voice.

  When the monk shut the door ever so softly between them, Britt gritted his teeth and reluctantly walked away. He’d back off. Go home, have a shower, grab some food and a power snooze. After that, he’d start Operation What the Hell Happened to Me.

  Excitement stirred in his chest. He definitely recognized that monk’s voice. What more validation did he need? Added to the visual aspect of the gargoyle, the voice of a real man was pretty much indisputable.

  When he returned the next night, he waited in the shadows across the street. He expected to be here for a while, maybe even days. But he’d barely arrived when the monk in question stepped outside, alone.

  Britt shadowed him until he was a decent distance from the monastery. That’s when he moved in. “Excuse me, Brother.”

  The corpulent man’s head jerked around, and he turned ghastly pale when he saw Britt beside him. He instantly searched the sidewalk behind him.

  “We’re alone,” Britt said. “There’s no one following you but me.”

  The monk’s shoulders sagged. “Good,” he said.

  A group of partyers suddenly streamed out of a bar and jostled past them.

  “I need answers,” Britt said between closed teeth. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  The monk sighed. “Not here. We can’t talk here.”

  “Where then?”

  “How about there?” He pointed to the pub.

  “Fine with me,” Britt said, and followed the man to a table at the back where he ordered two pints of beer.

  “Okay, what do you—”

  The beer arrived, and the monk grabbed his glass and swallowed half the brew before coming up for air. That might explain the guy’s gut.

  Britt sipped his ale. He’d take a more circuitous route to the truth. Obviously, this man didn’t take kindly to being pumped for information. “What’s your name, Brother?”

  “You don’t need to know my name,” he said, wiping froth off his upper lip. “It’s bad enough I’m here with you.”

  “Why?”

  After taking another long drink, the monk set his mug down with a thud. “Because I will break my vows if I tell you too much,” he said, looking around the room like a spy on assignment. “And I don’t intend to break my vows.”

  “What can you tell me that won’t compromise you, then?” Crap, he’d done enough horrible things without making a man of the cloth break his vows.

  But he needed information.

  Maybe the monk appreciated Britt’s understanding, because he looked at him a little differently now.

  “I can tell you there is another person like you in the city. He is going down a very dangerous path. Be aware, my son, that you don’t have to follow that path.” He took another slug of beer.

  “Who is he?”

  “You need to make your way on your own. If he recruits you, you might be caught up in his darkness.”

  Britt leaned his elbows on the table. Considering he was in love with a vampire, he might already be caught up—only, he intended to save his vampire from her darkness.

  “It might be too late for me already,” he said in a low voice so no one else could hear. “Last week, I killed a cavern full of vampires.”

  The monk closed his eyes and swallowed, shaking his head as if he didn’t want to know.

  “If that isn’t dark, what is?”

  “You know what’s right. You’ve always known. This has always been your destiny,” the monk whispered. “Why do you think you ended up in the path of so many vampires? First your ex-wife, your partner, and now the woman you love?”

  Shit! This little monk knew a heck of a lot more about him than he’d expected. “The thing is, I don’t know how to control it. I’m afraid I’ll hurt … someone.” Someone very special.

  The monks lips thinned, and his eyes squinted. “I can only tell you one more thing. And, if I do that, you must promise me you’ll never divulge me as your source of knowledge,” he said. “Ever!”

  “I solemnly promise,” Britt said instantly, and he meant it.

  “This man, who is like you in some ways, is very unlike you in other ways.”

  Britt’s gut clenched. How could these riddles help him?

  “The people of New York City are in danger if they fall under his spell.”

  “Who is he?”

  The monk’s cheeks flushed a mottled purple color and he took one long last drink of his ale, draining the glass. “His name is Malcolm Fisk. Now, don’t contact me again, John Brittain.” He jumped up and his belly bounced twice before settling. He eyed Britt seriously. “God be with you, my son.” He made the mark of the cross in the air and tore out of the pub as if the devil himself was after him.

  Britt stayed. Besides giving the monk a chance to make a clean break, he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him right now.

  He had more questions now than he had before. Worse, whatever was going on, the monk was obviously terrified at being caught with him. Why?

  Malcolm Fisk. He’d heard the name before… .

  He hauled out his cell phone and typed quickly, waited for any hits on the guy’s name. Bingo! Several came up. It seemed Malcolm Fisk was an evangelist here in the city, and according to the web, the guy’s followers were increasing in numbers. Britt bit the inside of his lip. Could Fisk be more than just the regular, run-of-the-mill mesmerist?

  He clicked on another link and found an address.

  When he stepped outside, shadows covered the sidewalk and a feeling of foreboding ran down his spine. He glanced skyward. The moon had merely been covered by a cloud, right? So why did he feel so fricking weirded out?

  AT THE AIRPORT, a shiny Alitalia jet sat on the runway. It had to be the one. Regent had said he’d wait for her on the tarmac rather than the airport terminal itself.

  The plane’s door opened just as Jess approached.

  A middle-aged man stepped out and stood at the top of the stairs. Where was Regent? She glanced past him to the open door. Surely, he wasn’t sick? Her brother wasn’t a young man—had the flight been too difficult for him?

  “Excuse me, do you know where Father Vandermire is?” she asked.

  He met her gaze and smiled. Something about that smile made her mouth gape.

  “I’m right here, Jess. Standing in front of you,” he said.

  She stared at him. This guy was in his early forties. Her brother was seventy-two. This had to be a trick.

  Holy hell! Still, he looked a little like Regent, though not exactly.

  Her eyes opened too wide and she cringed for a moment when the airport searchlight swung around and crept into her eye sockets, burning twin holes into her irises, or at least it felt like that.

  She pressed a hand over her eyes and moaned. “If you really are Regent, what in the name of God is going on? What happened to you?”

  “It’s a long and complicated story. Let’s get back to the rectory.” He searched the tarmac behind her and descended the steps. “I guess you didn’t find Britt.”

  “No.”

  When he got to the bottom, this man, who looked somewhat like her brother, surveyed her closely. “When was the last time you had a prayer vigil?”

  “It’s been a day or two,” she answered automatically.

  “Oh dear. You need prayers and soon. Let’s get the hell out of here.”


  “Regent doesn’t swear,” she said, without thinking.

  “I don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, but I do use the odd profanity when it’s really appropriate, as you know. And right now, it’s appropriate.”

  She followed him across the tarmac. Wait a minute. Nowadays anything could be done with plastic surgery—right? Even though she still had doubts, she needed to find out what happened to her brother; otherwise, she’d have this imposter pinned against a wall and she’d be forcing him to tell her the truth before she ripped his throat out.

  But there was no sense causing a spectacle in a busy airport. She’d get her answers when they reached the rectory.

  When they arrived forty-five minutes later, he pulled out keys and opened the door, then led her to his office.

  “You haven’t looked this bad since the beginning,” he said. He actually sounded angry. “What was Britt thinking, leaving you without your prayers?”

  “It was only a couple of days. He’s not himself right now,” she said, thinking this man had obviously done his homework.

  “I’m glad I made it back today. Tomorrow might have been too late. I’d never have forgiven myself if that had happened. And I’m going to have a few words with Britt.”

  “Don’t blame Britt. He’s so afraid he’s going to hurt me, he’s doing everything he can to find a solution. He’s so obsessed with his goal, I think he just forgot.” She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. If she closed her eyes, she’d really believe this was Regent standing in his office. But that was impossible.

  “Besides, I’m not about to lose my humanity after a mere two days without prayers. I’m stronger than that.”

  If only that were true. She rubbed numb fingers over her cold face. Given that her fingers were stiffening, she might not be able to last a few minutes longer, let alone a few days.

  He reached under the desk and pressed the button that opened the door to her bunker in the basement. She glared at him.

  “It’s really me,” he said. “Go, dear. Sleep. And, in the meantime, I’ll start my prayer regimen. Hopefully, you’ll feel better when you wake.”

  It wasn’t as if she had a choice right now. She’d fall into stasis in front of him if she didn’t escape soon. She’d be much safer in her heavily fortified room. And, she could lock it from the inside. For the second time in her life, she did just that.