La Vida Vampire

“Oui. It worked so well, it rid Yolette of her rich husband.”


Suddenly I was in Etienne’s mind, reading his twisted thoughts. Pictures whirled, vile pictures of shredded flesh and spattered blood. Of death-stare eyes and a soul locked in the memory of terror. Of a woman with a pointed chin in the throes of passion on a beach, then broken in the sand and washed by waves. I saw more, saw everything Yolette and Etienne had done, and words tumbled out.

“Yolette used too much of your scent on purpose, and Rachelle killed James in a bloodlust, didn’t she? You helped Yolette cover the crime, but you knew the truth, because you were there watching from a safe room. It was you I heard on Monday night. You said James’s death was an accident, but you thought the word Murder. ”

His eyes widened, then narrowed as he came down another step.

“Very good, ma petite. Your powers, they may be even more formidable than I thought. What else do you know?”

“You lured Rachelle to the beach, but Yolette killed her. Then you used the same method to kill Yolette.”

“You are correct. Fitting, n’est-ce pas?”

“But you didn’t kill Yolette for her money—or rather James’s money. You killed her because she threatened to frame you for James’s and Rachelle’s murders and take your formula.”

Etienne shrugged. “Oui, it is true. Yolette, she is jaloux of you and your powers that will be. She does not wish me to have you. Pah, she has no vision. Mais moi, I have the grand plans.”

“How did you rig it so we’d find Yolette’s body?”

“Ah, ironique, was it not?” He chuckled. “Yolette, she was meant to sink with the boat. I report her missing. Days go by, and she is found eaten by the fishes or not found at all. I am the grieving husband. Très tragique, but now I have you, mon cher. ”

Etienne came down the last two steps, the pistol now aimed at me, the sleeker gun at Maggie. A low, menacing rrryyyow sounded close, and I heard soft footfalls from the back of Fay’s house. Cat was here? Were the cops? Had Etienne heard? His gaze flicked toward another, louder rrryyyow. Full diversion time.

“Too bad you’ve done all this for nothing, Etienne,” I said. “I’m not a virgin, and your formula doesn’t work on me. The smell of blood makes me sick.”

His eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Then you will become accustomed to the scent, and you will crave it as you crave me. I will control your desire, your powers and the formule. ”

“Wrong,” I said, fists on my hips. “I’d rather stake myself than have sex with you, and no one—no one—will control me again. Ever.”

He pressed the smaller gun to Maggie’s temple, and my heart tripped.

“You want your friend to die?”

“No, damn it.”

“Then we will walk. My auto is in the next block.”

Walking was good. I’d get him away from Maggie and then use one of these powers everyone kept yammering about. I gave Maggie a reassuring smile as Etienne stuck the smaller gun in his waistband. He hooked an arm around my neck, and we turned from the main part of town.

We hadn’t taken five steps when Gorman stepped from behind a huge hibiscus bush, a honking huge gun pointed at us.

“You ain’t leavin’ yet, Frenchie. I got a score to settle for that beatin’ you gave me.”

In one smooth motion, Etienne raised his pistol and shot Gorman dead center. It was so fast, I thought I’d imagined it until Gorman folded in half and hit the pavement.

As he did, I caught a flash of movement from between two buildings on the other side of the street. Time slowed, but events didn’t.

Etienne aimed, Saber aimed, and I leapt into the air, half pulling Etienne with me. From the astonished look on Saber ’s face, I might have honest-to-goodness flown toward him until one bullet tore through my thigh, another through my back. Saber tried to break my fall, but I fell short of his arms and bounced on the pavement. Two more shots, and a vicious rrryyyow echoed in the street, then silence except for the wail of sirens. Maggie. Saber. Had Etienne shot them both like he had Gorman? Raw fear like I hadn’t known in centuries drove me to my feet.

Yowling, screaming, and pain-racked French curses erupted behind me as I looked for Maggie. She was still tethered to the rail, her eyes the size of saucers, but she was alive and not bleeding.

Saber lived, too. He stood with his gun wavering between Etienne and Cat in her full panther form. Cat held Etienne ’s throat in her jaws and had drawn blood but hadn’t torn his throat out. She rolled her amber eyes at me as if to ask what I wanted her to do.

“No, Saber,” I shouted and staggered to him. “Don’t shoot Cat. Please.”

“Cesca, get back. This cat is a fucking werepanther.”