Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel Page 4

  Codependents. Children. Cammie shuddered, and paused, her hand on the cool glass door handle. She had to have learned about this in class. Odd that she didn't remember it.

  She didn't remember it at all.

  But she knew about the Westrina Center. It had opened its doors in the ’50s[C&F23] in the heart of vampire country, organizing groups, using abstinence and mutual support to break what it saw as an addiction. That method had failed miserably in the early ’60s[C&F24] , and the Center had gone on to develop a more radical treatment.

  She pulled open the door. The rubber mat covering the tile squished under her shoes. Muddy footprints covered the mat. The lawn maintenance people had been here. Spring at last.

  A large, glassed in Formica[C&F25] counter led her to the tiny oak desk at the end. Behind the enclosure, data entry workers and secretaries pounded numbers in computers and answered phones. A door led to more secretarial space beyond.

  DeeDee, Cammie's favorite receptionist and her closest female friend, was bent over the desk, stamping "closed" on a series of file folders. She held the stamp awkwardly between her thumb and forefingers, careful not to press a red nail against the folders themselves. Her phone bank sat to one side, five lines blinking, and two new plants made the desk seem even smaller.

  "Hey, DeeDee," Cammie said. "Anita in?"

  DeeDee looked up and grinned. Her lipstick and blush matched her nail polish, and her hair —blonde this week [C&F26] —poofed out in a new perm. "Hey, Cam. Crash Test Dummies tonight at the Club de Wash."

  "I'm broke. But thanks." Cammie leaned over the desk. "Say, where's Anita? I got to talk to her."

  "She's in new arrivals. But she doesn't want to be bothered." DeeDee set the stamp down. A frown made a dainty crease between her bleached eyebrows. "You okay?"

  Cammie shook her head. She glanced past the glass to see if anyone was watching. "Have you ever worked in the Children's W[C&F27] ing?"

  "Nope. Don't want to either. Those kids are psychotic. Last week some brat tried to torch his room."

  "Jesus."

  "Yeah." DeeDee looked over her shoulder too, then focused on Cammie. "Odd thing is, we would never have heard about it if the cops hadn't come to the wrong entrance. We get rumors a lot, but that's about it. We don't even get to see the kids' files."

  "Why not?"

  "Confidentiality, Anita says. I say it's more. We deal with confidential stuff all the time—eradication folders, surveillance, set-up. I mean, what's so different about the kids?"

  Cammie tapped a blunt nail against the “closed” stamp on the nearest file. "They're alive."

  DeeDee shrugged. "Maybe. Feels like more, you know? Or maybe the job is finally getting to me. I look at my neighbors sometimes when I go home and wonder which one is going to get it next."

  Cammie's mouth went dry. She had the same thoughts sometimes. That was why most of her social activities were with the Center staff. They, at least, were safe. "Do you know when Anita's going to be back?"

  "Nope." DeeDee picked the stamp back up. "Tell you what. Sarge is in. Why don't you go see her?"

  Cammie made a face. The suggestion made sense, but she didn't like it. Sergeant Judith Applegate, Retired, was the second in command (her terms) at the Center. But she and Cammie didn't get along. Sarge always made physical contact, and it was rarely pleasant. She would tap Cammie in the small of the back and tell her to stand up straight, or she would place a hand on Cammie's shoulders and order her not to hunch. Around Sarge, Cammie always felt twelve years old.

  Still, it didn't matter who she saw. She needed to talk to someone.

  Cammie pushed away from the desk. "Have you got a ride to the Club de Wash?"

  DeeDee rolled her eyes. A fleck of mascara fell from one eyelash. "I know security procedures. And I promise, Mom. I won't go home with any strange men."

  Cammie frown in mock-Sarge imitation. "See that you don't."

  "Yes, sir!" DeeDee saluted.

  Cammie smiled as she headed down the hall. Her smile faded as she turned into the administrative wing. It had a faint scent of chalk, like the classroom of the first-grade teacher everyone hated. Most of the doors were closed, their blond wood looking foreboding against the white walls. Portraits of past directors and award-winning staff members lined the walls, small gold plaques labeling them underneath. Most were women, and all had stern 19th[C&F28] century expressions, even though the oldest photograph dated from 1945.

  Sarge's door was open. Her walls were lined with books—alphabetized according to category—and her plants stood at attention on the wide windowsill. One file sat on her desk. Her “out” basket was full, and her “in” basket [C&F29] was empty. The cursor blinked in a new file on her computer screen. Sarge sat in her overstuffed office chair, her white blouse starched and immaculate despite the late afternoon hour. She held the phone receiver against her ear with one hand and waved Cammie in with the other.

  "…not allowed to operate outside the state, Senator." She smiled and waved her hand again until Cammie sat in the straight-backed chair in front of the desk. "I know. You'll need to get someone in Massachusetts to investigate. We may have a listing in our files…. Yes sir. I understand the necessity for discretion. The family is well known and a scandal like this— Yes, sir. But I cannot authorize out-of-state activity. That would subject us to federal regulations and so far, those regulations do not protect us like the State of Wisconsin's do.… No. There is no center like ours there, but some of our former people do independent work. I'll have my secretary fax you a list.… Thank you, Senator. I'm sorry we couldn't be of more help."

  Cammie sat at the edge of her chair, conscious that her posture was straight.

  Sarge hung up and leaned forward, each movement precise. She was a small woman—some would even describe her as delicate—if she didn't have the grace of a natural athlete. Her hair was blunt cut, short behind her ears, and she wore no make-up. Two tiny pearl earrings were the only concession she made to her femininity. She made a quick hand-scrawled note on the pad before her, then smiled at Cammie.

  "Camila. It's been a long time since you have come to see me."

  Cammie didn't move. Any movement felt like a betrayal of her own emotions. "I've been out of training for almost three years."

  "And since then, you have been working with Anita." Sarge templed her fingers and leaned back in the large chair. Even that movement had a military precision. "Don't worry. I'm not offended. Most of my students turn to her. The good ones anyway. My job is to instill fear and precision. Those qualities do not inspire confidence."

  "In certain situations, they do, Sarge." Cammie would rather have Sarge at her back in a dark house than Anita. Sarge's discipline would protect them both.

  A half-smile played at Sarge's thin lips. "Don't patronize me, Camila."

  "I'm not, sir," Cammie said, falling back into old speech patterns. In training, Sarge had insisted upon "sir" as a sign of respect. She licked her lips and decided to plunge right in. "I had an eradication today, sir, and something about it disturbed me. I was going to talk with Anita, but she's not in."

  "Two points for honesty," Sarge said.

  "Sir, Whitney and I received a standard briefing before we went into the house. We followed procedure, found the vampire in his bedroom and staked him. Then we heard a small sound, and turned to find a child. She lived there."

  A silence hung between them for a moment. Sarge folded the temple of her hands and clasped them together. "The problem, Camila?"

  A shock ran through Cammie. "That is the problem, Sarge! That little girl."

  "It's not standard to include information about children in an eradication package. They are just something an eradication team might expect to encounter."

  Cammie swallowed. "You never told us that. No one did."

  "Camila, we had an entire unit on children, and childhood procedures. It is one of our most important studies."

  Cammie felt a chill run up her back. The dark slate of a blackboard covered with diagrams flashed through her mind, but was gone too fast for her to catch. "I don't remember that. I must have been sick."

  Sarge folded her hands on her desktop. "You never missed a class, Camila. Or a training procedure."

  "Then you skipped that section with us." Cammie's voice rose. Why didn't anyone understand that she hadn't been prepared for this? No one had worked with her on it. No one had warned her.

  "I covered it, Camila," Sarge said, her voice soft. She leaned forward, her expression less rigid. "You probably just don't remember it."

  "I would remember it." Cammie's whole body was shaking. "I hate being surprised on an eradication."

  "It happens," Sarge said. "People often forget part of their training."

  "I didn't forget anything."

  Sarge nodded and sighed. She whirled her chair away from the desk. "If you don't forget anything, do you remember how Manguoso complained when I forced you all to read the Handbook from cover to cover that first week?"

  Cammie hated being tested. She wiped her hands on her jeans. "Should've been a sign right there that Manguoso would never make it as an eradicator."

  "Did you read your Handbook?" Sarge asked in an odd voice.

  "You know I did."

  "Then you knew, Camila. It's in the Handbook." Sarge opened a door and pulled out a blue book, thumbing to a center page. "See?" She spun it around. "'Vampiric families: A male vampire can father a child within his first year of change—'"

  "I've never seen this," Cammie said. She could barely breathe. She swallowed and made herself take a deep breath. She was getting dizzy. "It's not in my Handbook."

  "It's been in every Handbook from the beginning," Sarge said. Her gaze was sympathetic, her tone soft. "Why does t
his bother you so?"

  "She watched us kill him." The answer came out fast, accompanied by the image of small hands, covered in blood. Cammie shook the image away.

  Sarge closed her eyes and sighed. Then she nodded, and opened them again. "It happens, Camila."

  "It's never happened to me before. If I had known that there could be children around, I would have at least closed the damn door. But I didn't. And I don't like being surprised like that. I was never taught to expect children. Not by you. Not by anyone."

  "Camila," Sarge said, "You don't remember. Sometimes that happens. It's part of the process."

  Cammie froze. "What process?"

  "I can't answer that question until I check your file." Sarge swung the chair around and typed Cammie's name into the computer. "ID number?"

  "What do you need my file for?" Cammie asked. Her hands were clutched into fists, the nails digging into her skin.

  "Come on, Camila, don't be difficult." Sarge kept her fingers poised over the computer keyboard. She spoke without looking at Cammie. "You know about security clearances. I don't know your clearance level. I can't give you privileged information without knowing your background. Now, give me your ID number."

  Cammie recited it with the rapidity of years of practice. Sarge typed it in. She moved the monitor so that Cammie couldn't see what was on the screen. Sarge tapped a button, then another, reading to herself.

  After a moment, she closed the file and turned the monitor to its original position. She had gone pale. "I am sorry, Camila. I can't explain this to you."

  The anger was back, making Cammie's shaking grow worse. "I have a high security clearance."

  Sarge nodded. "I know. But I am not equipped to discuss this with you. You'll need to talk with Anita."

  "Anita's not here."

  "Then you'll have to come back." Sarge reached up and shut off the computer screen. "I'm sorry, Camila."

  Sarge's fingers toyed with the edge of the file. Cammie stared at them for a moment, trying to control her breathing. When she felt as if she could speak without shouting, she said, "I feel like this has suddenly become a very big deal."

  "It is a big deal," Sarge said. "It has always been a big deal. The first rule of eradication, Camila. We have been given the power to destroy. We should not use it lightly."

  "I have never treated eradication lightly," Cammie said. "I feel like you people are, sending us into places with children, where children can see an atrocity they're not prepared for."

  "Camila, we deal with children all the time. The Children's W[C&F30] ing is for the victims of vampires, whether they lived with the vampire or not."

  Cammie's light-headedness grew. She had never thought about the Children's W[C&F31] ing. It had been part of the Center that hadn't concerned her. How odd that she had not considered it at all.

  Sarge ran a finger along the top of the files. "What did you do with the child?"

  "We took her to Dr. Eliason, and then Whitney brought her here while I collected her stuff."

  "Then you followed procedure." Sarge picked up the folder, tapped its edge against her desk, and set the folder back down. "In these cases, sometimes, that is all you can do."

  "You're not going to tell me why this is normal to everyone but me, are you?"

  Sarge looked up at Cammie. For the first time, Sarge seemed small. "No. You need to make an appointment with Anita. I'm sure DeeDee will help you with that."

  "I'm sure she will." Cammie spun on the balls of her feet and marched to the door. Once there, she stopped. "What's in my file, Sarge?"

  Sarge's face was reflected in the glass pane of the door on the other side of the hall. Her expression became tight, and she suddenly looked older than she was. "Your entire life is in there, Camila. Your entire life."

  Chapter Four

  Ben stopped in front of the address Steve had given him. This couldn't be right. A renovated five-story building stood in front of him. It had a black façade with gargoyles peering down from the roof. Most of the windows had black shutters that[C&F32] were closed against the light.

  On the first floor, red-carpeted steps led to an Italian restaurant. The prices, posted on a menu in a window at street level, made dinner for one cost more than the average hotel room.

  A foghorn sounded in the bay. The mist had grown heavier. Dusk triggered the streetlights. A wet halo circled the eerie glow. Water dripped from nearby trees. If it weren't for the rushing of cars, the entire neighborhood seemed like it belonged in the 19th century.

  Ben went around the carpeted steps. Another door, recessed into the building, had a wrought iron gate before it. Foreboding place, and odd. Ben never expected a friend of Steve's to have money.

  Ben rang the bell that corresponded to the apartment number Steve had given him. After a moment, he heard a ping, followed by "Who is it?" The voice was clear as a voice on a phone line. None of the scratchy intercom garble that usually came out of such equipment.

  "My name is Ben Sadler. Steve Henderson [C&F33] gave me your name."

  A brief pause made Ben look around. Should he have pressed a talk button? Had he missed something? Had they heard him? He didn't know why it suddenly felt important that he meet with these people.

  "Fifth floor, third door on the left."

  "Okay," Ben said, trying to keep the relief from his voice. The wrought-iron gate rose and a buzz let him know that the inside door had unlocked. He pushed it open as the gate slid back down,[C&F34] and stepped into the hall.

  It was dark and cool. A thin brownish light created more shadows than illumination. The walls were paneled—mahogany, if he guessed correctly. A corridor ran down one side. The hall smelled of oregano and tomato sauce. The Italian restaurant was on the other side of the wall.

  Circular stairs with more wrought iron swept up to the second level. The elevator, off to his left, was the old-fashioned kind that was wide as a service elevator and had an elaborate double gate that operated as its doors.

  He had walked all afternoon. He didn't want to take the stairs. He got inside the elevator instead.

  The elevator too was dark, except for a service light that shown down from five stories up. Instead of worrying him, the dark eased him. He hadn't realized how much the gray mist had hurt his eyes. The floor buttons were red and they jutted out of the panel, unlike the modern computerized lights. When he pushed the fifth floor, a tiny light bulb inside the button illuminated the five carved into the front of the plastic. The doors closed with a metallic bang, and with a whir and a thump, the elevator shook its way to the fifth floor.

  The inside gate revealed the other floors as they passed. Each grew more elaborate. The second floor looked like a fancy hotel, with red patterned carpet and matching [C&F35] wallpaper. The third had orchids sitting on glass tables outside the door and a couch for relaxation. On the fourth, the elevator opened into a lounge lit with muted red lights.

  The fifth floor was completely dark. Ben hesitated for a moment after the elevator door opened. His eyes adjusted quickly—more quickly than he remembered them doing before. A wave of sexual desire hit him, combined with a memory—the rich scent of Candyce's blood as it smeared his face. He took a deep breath, made the memory go away, but the blood smell remained like the faint odor of tobacco in a smoker's home.

  He stepped out into another lounge, this one with leather furniture. The leather scent was as heavy as it was in the leather store at the mall, and it made him want to sneeze. The soft leaf of a fern brushed against his face.

  His heart was pounding. What kind of weirdness had Steve gotten him into?

  He made his way out of the lounge area, avoiding the darker shadows that indicated tables and chairs. A wet bar stood against one wall, and from it, he could smell the tang of wine. His stomach growled again, and he put a hand over it. Maybe Steve's friends would give him something to eat.

  A wide corridor opened to what appeared to be an endless hallway. The third door on the left looked no different than all the other doors.

  The blood smell grew stronger.

  Ben knocked. The door opened, sending light, sound and smell at him in a dizzying rush. Incense, cigarette smoke, alcohol, and something heady, even more intoxicating, filled the air, followed by incandescent light that seemed bright after the darkness of the hallway. The music dominated everything—Allanah Myles at full volume, her scratchy Joplin-esque sound overpowering everything.