Midnight Gamble Read online

  Chloe pirouetted in front of her new roommate, sending up a flare of white fringe as her long string of pearls circled her like a beaded lasso. In the glare of the hanging lamp overhead, her marcel-waved hair glowed like a cap of pale gold, and her blue eyes shone bright as glass buttons. The perfect Jazz baby, all powder pale and painted. She struck a pose, one rouged knee exposed above its rolled down stocking, her hips thrusting forward in a debutante slouch.

  "Whatdaya think, Rica? Ain't I just the bee's knees, or what? And how about you? You looking for a rich catch, or a good job?"

  For the first time, Chloe paused in her rapid fire speech to wait for a reply, smiling as it came with an expected drawl of nonchalance.

  "I just want to have fun."

  "Well, then you've come to the right place, kiddo. My sweetie's gonna be here in just a few minutes. We're gonna grab a bite then head over to ... well, I'm not sure where we're going, but I know it's all the rage. Just all the rage. Everybody who's anybody's gonna be there. Hey, I know what. I'll ask him if you can tag along. Say you will? It'll be so much fun."

  "I don't want to be a bother, Chloe."

  Stuffing an assortment of cosmetics in her bag, Chloe made a careless gesture. “Oh, don't be silly. Quinn loves my friends. He and Sheila got along just swell until ... well, until she up and got herself killed.” The china blue eyes grew all glittery, but with a blink all the bad memories washed away as easily as the tears. “Say you'll come with us. There'll be music and dancing and hootch.” She winked then teased, “You got something better going on tonight?"

  Frederica gave the gabby, vapid girl a slow smile. “Not really. You're very kind."

  "Nonsense. You saved my bacon showing up with two months rent in advance. I owe you big time.” She reached out to impulsively pull Rica into a perfumed hug, not noticing the way her new friend stiffened at the contact. “You and me, kiddo, we're gonna make a mark on this town."

  "Oh, I don't doubt that."

  There was a honk from the street below, and Chloe flew to the window as if it was her own personal mating call. She turned back toward Rica, her cheeks even brighter than the dots of rouge. “There he is. Wait ‘til you meet him. He's such a doll. You'll love him. All the girls do. Find yourself something real glamorous to wear. Go ahead and look through my things, if you want. I don't mind. I've got some swell new shoes that should fit you. Me and Sheila shared our stuff all the time. I won't be long. Get yourself ready to do the town. Ta!"

  The door slammed shut and Rica was able to exhale, winded from the verbal assault.

  After listening to the sound of Chloe's high heels clicking down the three flights of stairs, Frederica crossed to the window to look below. At the curb leaned a gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle. A dark garbed man lifted a squealing Chloe up into its sidecar. She wiggled down into it as if into one of her mother's corsets then waved up toward the window. Rica stepped back just as her escort glanced upward.

  Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the smooth gleam of skin over taut facial angles, or the glitter of an unnatural stare.

  Rica knew what Quinn was even before she reached out cautiously with her senses to test that truth. She did so carefully, so he wouldn't realize he was being probed by another of his kind. He was a new creature, without the wisdom and power that would come with passing centuries, but that didn't excuse him from her quest. He was still strong enough to be behind the killings she'd been sent to investigate.

  He continued to stare for a long beat, expression intense, brow furrowed. Had he felt her presence? She frowned. Then, thankfully, his attention shifted from the curtains she hid behind to the fragile human at his side.

  After wrapping Chloe's chiffon scarf more securely about the shoulders she impetuously bared to the evening chill, he straddled the motorcycle and, with a kick, sent it roaring down the street.

  In her search for that good time, Chloe Baumgartner had no idea what she was riding with.

  Rica stepped back from the window, her mood thoughtful. If she wasn't quick and careful, Chloe would end up just like the unfortunate Sheila, found nearly bloodless in a garbage bin, tossed out like so much trash.

  Sheila's demise had one benefit. It had given Rica the opportunity to slip casually into Chloe's apartment in Greenwich Village and into her active circle of high living friends to search out a darkness they wouldn't understand. That was part of her gift; fitting in amongst the humans. She infiltrated their lives in order to seek out those who would take them, brutally, viciously, and carelessly.

  Sheila had been the third such death in SoHo's warehouse district. All three had been violent, unnecessary, and all too obvious. Death by torn throat and blood loss with one suspicious similarity—the curious lack of blood at the murder site. The next natural step was to speculate about the killer. Symptoms of a tabloid's dream come true. Headlines for months to come.

  Vampire.

  The press loved the sensationalism of it. By the time the second young woman was found, reporters filled their rags with fact and folklore, most of it woefully inaccurate, but some, uncomfortably true.

  In this modern day, there was no reason to kill casually. And no excuse not to disguise the cause of death, should it happen by accident or intent. It was one of their primary rules. Discretion. Deception. Anything to prevent detection.

  It wasn't just human curiosity she was working to prevent. A few hysterics screaming “Blood suckers!” didn't send the placid masses out with torches lit and stakes at ready. They considered it gory entertainment and clamored for more. But it did alert more subtle enemies to their presence.

  There were those groups from the old countries that dedicated themselves to the destruction of Rica's breed. And there were those amongst her own ranks who were drawn to such dramatic spectacles as an excuse to indulge and terrify. Neither outcome was good. It was her duty to find the guilty ones and to quickly, quietly, prevent them from bringing any further attention to the existence of their nocturnal breed.

  It wasn't her job to condemn or kill. She was sent to investigate and incapacitate the suspected killers. Her father's court would decide their fate.

  And she was very good at what she did, probably because she removed herself emotionally from the situation. She focused only upon action and results. She tried not to involve humans if at all possible and to protect them from any danger, but in her mind they were tools to an end. She could live with them, act like them, pretend to be one of them, but in her heart, she was of another kind, and they meant less than nothing to her.

  The clueless Chloe was squarely in the middle of Rica's current case. She'd shared a room with one of the victims. She frequented the decadent night spots secreted in SoHo and the Village.

  And her boyfriend was a vampire.

  Perhaps it was her boyfriend, Quinn, who'd slain the girls and rashly left them to be discovered. Rica sighed to herself. Almost too easy, but possibly true. And if that were the case, tonight might bring her the certainty she would need to bring him before her father's tribunal.

  Then a temporarily brokenhearted Chloe could eventually go on about her frivolous pursuits, unscathed and blissfully unaware. But for now, the silly blonde dangled, a sweet treat to bait Rica's quarry.

  Frederica glanced about the small rooms they shared. Stark and uninviting after the luxury of her own home in the Caribbean. And cold. Always cold. Evidence of Chloe was everywhere, in the bright stripes of color from discarded dresses trickling out from her open bedroom door, in the stockings hung to dry over one of the curtain rods, in the stack of silly plumed and beaded hats crowded atop the dresser, in the flash of cheap costume jewelry tangled there as well. Trivial belongings for a trivial existence. A means to an end, both the apartment and the girl. Frederica would use both without compunction or regret to get her job done.

  Chloe Baumgartner was only human. And to Rica, that said it all.

  Rica had never understood her parents’ affection for humankind. They were
a simple, helpless race who needed protection to continue in ignorance along their short and uneventful path. They were like ... pets ... amusing, exasperating and so pitifully dependent. She smiled to herself, considering the resemblance between her fluffy-headed roommate and a pampered and completely useless Pomeranian lapdog. Noisy, jumpy and for decoration only.

  And for now, her responsibility.

  With any luck, she could wrap up her business tonight and be gone with Chloe none the wiser—as if that were a danger. Hopefully, she could discover all she needed to know after this night on the town and return to the civilized circle of her own kind.

  Rica paused in her selection of a cocktail dress, wincing from the painful barb of truth. A truth she could not deny no matter how much she might want to.

  They were not her own kind.

  She was not like her father or grandfather or any of their sleek, preternatural friends. She was her mother's daughter, a hybrid of two worlds, of two realms. Not an equal, not truly worthy of her father's love and respect. Not yet.

  But she would be.

  She jerked free one of the pretty costumes from her closet the same way she would pull a saber she intended to use for the kill.

  She would prove to him that she was his daughter, too. That she had value beyond the weakness of her blood that allowed her to walk in daylight. A gift, he called it. A curse to her own thinking. A constant reminder that she was different, unpure.

  To rise above it, she must be fearless and formidable even when facing indomitable foes. She must prove herself equal if not superior by besting those she pursued, conquering them and bringing them on their knees to her father's court. For a single word of praise from his lips was worth every moment of risk or consequence.

  Marchand's greatest fear was that she was not immortal. Hers was that she was not immune to her frail human half. A half that she suppressed with ruthless determination. A half that she ignored when conscience interfered. A half she denied when emotion tugged upon the tender inner workings of her heart when she saw a man and woman together in a happiness she could never share.

  Hers was a solitary existence, separate even from family. And so, she would go alone into this night, facing danger and possible death with a reckless disregard in spite of the assurances she'd given to her father.

  He wouldn't have understood.

  He had nothing to prove.

  But she did.

  And she would show them all.

  * * * *

  A shiny new Rolls Royce arrived two hours later, relieving Rica's worry that somehow she and Chloe would both be forced to squeeze into Quinn's narrow sidecar. A stoic driver informed her that a Mr. Vanko Talemon had sent him to pick her up, and that Miss Chloe would be waiting at their destination. He didn't say where that would be as he shut her inside the posh back section. Then they were on their way.

  Focusing on her goal instead of her uneasiness, Rica watched the passing scenery as they skimmed down through the convoluted Village streets into the precise grid of SoHo blocks. She frowned slightly as they traveled along the molded cast-iron fronts of Greene Street, wondering why they were entering the city's warehouse district when she'd expected a quick trip to Chumley's or another of the neighborhood's well-known speakeasies. Was this some new rendezvous site for the indulgent youth who sought out innocuous places to hide their good time vices from the law? Anticipation rose.

  Greene Street was a bull's eye on her map of discovered victims. All three had been found within walking distance. Or stalking distance.

  When the big car stopped in front of one of the multi-storied Mansards built by Duckworth during the last century, reticence overcame rash behavior. It loomed large and dark and hinted of danger the way it faced the street with shuttered windows and iron bars. For all intents and purposes, it was abandoned.

  "Why have we stopped here?’ she asked of the driver as he opened the door and moved aside.

  "Watch your step, ma'am,” was all he would politely volunteer.

  He escorted her inside the building and closed her behind the grillwork of an Otis safety elevator, sending her shuddering upward without another word. After she counted off three floors, she began to hear the faint strains of music above the rattling of her iron prison. Finally, the box jolted to a stop, and the doors opened upon a fantasy scene in comparison to the utilitarian grime below.

  Off the wide hall, double doors stood open upon a wild party in progress. She was drawn toward the noise, pausing in the doorway to take it all in. The room was cavernous and blindingly white from the heavy chandeliers to the filmy drapes. Heavy shutters sealed all the light and revelry inside, probably so as not to alert any beat cop below that wasn't already on the take.

  Pristine roses and dalias with heads the size of cabbages blossomed in stark profusion atop every pale wood surface. Dancers whirled about upon a carpet of white thick enough to muffle even the stomping steps of the Black Bottom. On a raised platform curtained like a sultan's tent, a jazz orchestra played, their dark faces a sharp contrast to their all-white evening tails. Clear champagne and potent cocktails poured into crystal goblets where fashionably pale debutantes lounged upon overstuffed white ottomans and negligently inclined chaises. Like diamonds in a white gold setting, the room had the brilliance of a earthbound star, making Rica squint slightly against that onslaught of light.

  But there was something wrong with this overwhelming opulence. Something not quite as pure as the color scheme suggested.

  "There you are, my dear."

  Chloe rushed toward her, a glittery comet streaking through the elite heavens to claim her arm for an excited squeeze. Rica endured it with a tight smile.

  "Ain't this just the most. Come on. Let's get you introduced around to my chums."

  Above the ear-splitting noise level of syncopated sound and boisterous laughter, Rica leaned close to her companion, shouting, “Whose party is this?"

  "A friend of a friend of someone Quinn knows. No one's seen him yet tonight. Darcy somebody. I've heard rumors that he's a big time bootlegger and that he uses these parties to peddle his liquor. Not that cheap bathtub gin or nasty moonshine, either, but real Canadian whiskey. One of the fellas I was cutting up with said he's been to almost a dozen parties here, and he's never seen our mysterious host. Makes you want to sneak into the back for a look see, doesn't it?"

  "What does, darling?"

  The chilly purr of her beau's question brought them both about to face a winsomely handsome young man with a poetic rumple of blond hair over dreamy features. Rica might have thought him some idle Village artist, hanging onto Chloe in hopes of finding support. Might have, if not for his eyes. They were as cold as a thin layer of ice forming on a shallow pool.

  And he was a vampire.

  "Heya, doll. I've been looking everywhere for you. This is my new best pal, Frederica. Rica, this is Quinn. Ain't he just swell!"

  Cool fingers encased Frederica's, lifting them for an equally cool press against unsmiling lips. “A pleasure. You are all Chloe has said you would be."

  "And I suspect you are much, much more."

  His grin was feral, as white and impersonal as the room, as wicked as a wolf about to gobble her up whole. “If you are as adventurous as your words, you could try to find out, but as for what's in back, I suggest you leave those secrets alone if you know what's good for you, eh, minx? You know what they say about curiosity and our late friend, the cat."

  He gripped Chloe's chin for a pinch that was more warning than wooing. Chloe, simpleton that she was, just giggled. Then he looked long and hard at Rica, his mind probing at hers, his senses trickling along her body like an invading caress. She pretended not to notice, keeping her smile fixed and her stare empty so he would see nothing suspicious beyond that carefree facade.

  He must have been convinced that she presented no danger, for the scrutiny broke off and she was able to breathe easily once more.

  "You girls be good,” he cautioned with a tight,
somewhat threatening smile.

  "I'm always good, don't you know,” Chloe responded with a waggle of her slim hips.

  "Yes, you are, and that's why I tolerate the rest.” He slapped her on the fanny to elicit a squeak then he turned and was engulfed by the throng of revelers.

  Chloe immediately forgot about the warning and the hints of intrigue as a handsome Ivy Leaguer coaxed her out into the seething dance arena. Suddenly, the glass floor lit up from below to excite shrieks of appreciation. The effect wreaked naughty havoc upon the thin fabric dresses of the women dancing upon it, silhouetting their figures as if they were shimmying in nothing at all.

  Rica paid no attention to the spectacle. Her gaze was not on the company but rather fixed with a casual indifference upon the three surrounding mirrored walls. Odd mirrors that didn't project a true image but rather a fun house-like ripple of indistinguishable light and color. Her stare settled upon a central spot where the flailing elbows and wild kicking legs reflected back from one side of the room to the other into seeming infinity. But to Rica, there was a depth behind that blank mirrored sheen hinting at secrets she was bound to discover.

  * * * *

  "Who is she, Vanko?"

  "Which one, boss?"

  A chiding glance slid from the first man to the other as they stood behind the two-way mirror. “The one staring straight at us as if we were plain to see."

  "Ah. Rica somebody. A friend of that singer, Chloe. That persistent boy, Quinton brought them. Probably someone new he means to push at you to gain attention for himself."

  "I want to know more about this Rica somebody, friend of Chloe's. Find out for me. Use your resources so she won't know who is curious about her."