Under Darkness Part 3

Then J released me, turned very quickly, went into his office, and shut the door. I stood there, shaken and not knowing quite what to think, except I knew for sure that I didn't have the whole story. Not about the Intrepid Intrepid. And not about Darius della Chiesa.

Downstairs, out on the sidewalk, the soft air of the June night caressed my face. Four vampires waited for me, standing close together, divided two by two. I was the fifth wheel, the odd man out. It had never been more obvious than now, when I, my only companions the Bloomingdale's shopping bags drooping from my hands, strolled over to join them.

"Guess what Macky did," Benny said.

I looked over at my longtime friend Cormac. As much of a chameleon as Johnny Depp, he wore his new persona well. His hair was long, his body wiry, his stance duplicating Rogue's. Cormac was the smaller, darker shadow of the bigger man, but not fey, not insubstantial. He was a vampire. He was dangerous all the time. Now, in his black leather biker clothes, he allowed the world to see something of the seductiveness of our evil, the turn-on of our dark side. I raised my eyebrows.

" 'Macky' did something something? No, don't tell me. I want to guess. Oh, I know. He got a tattoo. Forearm? Shoulder? Or do you have to drop your pants to show us?"

Cormac scowled at me.

"You're not even close," Benny said. "Tell her, Macky."

"Yes, tell me. Really, inquiring minds want to know."

"I got a bike," Cormac said.

"A bike?" I echoed. I didn't get it. Had Cormac decided to do the Tour de France or something?

"A motorcycle motorcycle. Come on; I'll show you." He went back to the Flatiron Building and pushed through the entrance door.

All of us followed, including Rogue, who had thrown down his cigarette and ground it out with his boot heel first.

Behind a frosted-gla.s.s door at the back of the lobby, parked on the granite floor, were two Harley-Davidsons, one black with chrome fenders, one all white.

"This one's mine." Cormac walked over and straddled the white bike.

"They look old," I said, not knowing what to say.

Rogue hooted at my ignorance. "They're cla.s.sic bikes. Cormac has a 1940 knucklehead with a suicide s.h.i.+ft. Mine's a 1954 panhead."

I stood there clutching my Bloomingdale's bags like a suburban matron and tried to sound enthusiastic. "Uh, cool."

Benny squealed. "Daph! They're worth tens of thousands of dollars! Don't you think they're beautiful?"

"Mine will be," Cormac said, "when I get it repainted. It was a police bike; that's why it's white. All stock. Rare as h.e.l.l."

Rogue had already pushed his bike through the doors and into the lobby. He got on. Audrey climbed behind him, riding b.i.t.c.h. He gave it a kick start, and the roar of the engine hurt my ears.

"I'm riding with Cormac," Benny yelled over the noise. Cormac had more trouble pus.h.i.+ng his bike than Rogue, but he got himself set, and Benny mounted his bike to sit behind him.

"Open the front doors for us," Audrey yelled to me as she put one hand on Rogue's shoulder and pointed to the Fifth Avenue entrance with the other.

I did, propping open one side of the double doors and holding the other side wide with my shoulder to give both bikes easy pa.s.sage through them. Rogue and Audrey moved by me and drove down the sidewalk until they reached a driveway cutting through the curb onto the street.

Cormac was having a little trouble getting his bike to start. I guessed the "suicide s.h.i.+ft" was the problem. Benny sat perched behind him, grinning. I hoped he didn't dump her into the street once they started down the avenue.

"I thought we were going to talk?" I said to her.

"We are." Just then Cormac got the engine going and they headed out the door. Benny turned her head back toward me and yelled to me over the engine's roar, "Take a cab and meet us over at Charlie's Harley Hangout. You remember where it is, right?"

I remembered, all right. The seedy biker's bar on West Street was where I nearly got my head busted the night I first met Rogue.

Charlie's Harley Hangout, frequented by vampire bikers and just plain criminals, was no place to go carrying three big shopping bags. None of the clientele shopped at Bloomingdale's; most of them had never even heard of it, I bet. It was bad enough I was wearing yoga pants, for Pete's sake. I certainly wouldn't fit in. I decided to return upstairs to the office, leave my stuff by my computer, and return for it later.

The elevator doors slid open on the third floor. All lights had been extinguished. The hallway had become a dark tunnel. I exited warily and made my way on silent feet through the murky gloom. At the farthest end of the corridor I reached the office door.

Benny, Cormac, and I-the original Team Darkwing-had been "hired," if that's the right word for being given the choice to work for the U.S. government or be killed, at the same time. We had each been a.s.signed a tiny office and a computer. We had been issued genuine government IDs stating that we worked for the Department of the Interior. We received a biweekly paycheck. We even had a TSP, the government's pension plan. But we had never been issued keys to "our" office.

I expected the door to be locked. It was. I pulled out the set of lock picks that lay among my other important 'stuff' in the bottom of the well-worn Louis Vuitton leather backpack I carried everywhere.

With practiced movements I fiddled with the old lock. It was a lead-pipe cinch. Seconds later the doork.n.o.b turned easily.

I stepped into the shadowy conference room, the one we had left just minutes earlier. Looking bleak and deserted, it was illuminated only by the weak light of the city leaking through the tall windows.

"J?" I called out. "You still here?"

No one answered.

I walked past the conference table where we had lately been sitting and opened the door into the small side room that served as my office. Bare of any personal items, since I had never brought any here, my desk sat forlornly in the s.p.a.ce. I looked at it, feeling a little puzzled. The computer that had been on the desk was gone. Then I mentally shrugged. I figured that since I never used it, it had been removed. I pulled out the desk chair and stowed my shopping bags way under the desk, out of sight. The cleaning staff vacuuming the floors might see them, but I doubted it. Why would they bother to clean my office when I was never there to get it dirty?

I went back into the conference room. It dawned on me that it too looked emptier than it usually did. I glanced around. The old card table with the coffeemaker and Styrofoam cups that usually sat in one corner was gone. Had it been there earlier? I couldn't say for sure.

I was about to leave and catch up with the others when a thought popped into my mind and I stopped. Why not Why not? I reasoned as I made a U-turn and headed for J's office. I figured I'd snoop a little. Maybe I'd find out something about him. Like his name.

I knocked on the door first. No one answered. I tried the k.n.o.b. It was unlocked. Good. I didn't have to break and enter.

"J?" I called out again as I pushed it open.

No answer.

I strode in, planning to search the drawers of his desk. I halted in my tracks. With windows on each side of the triangular-shaped room letting in the light from the street, the interior was clearly visible. But I couldn't believe what I saw. I blinked.

There was no desk. No chair. No wastebasket. None of the furnis.h.i.+ngs I had seen the last time I was there remained. In fact, there was nothing in the room. Nothing at all.

Chapter 5.

"Know thyself."-Socrates

Back on the street I pondered what I had discovered. Did J leave the building by some secret route? Or was he still there, on another floor, with others unknown to us? After all, someone-or more likely a whole crew of technicians-must have scurried into the office after our departure, removing any sign that ABC Media was occupied and erasing any evidence that we Darkwings existed. Our entire enterprise was all smoke and mirrors-lies and deceptions. I should have expected no less.

I smiled with no joy at the contradictions of my existence. I was not to trust Darius, according to J, but I certainly could not trust J. I could not trust my own mother. I wanted to trust my fellow Darkwings, but putting any faith at all in Rogue, at least, was beyond me. My best option was to trust no one.

Out here in the open my nerves jangled, and my fight-or-flight reflex had me wound tighter than a clock. As I was a creature of the night, it was not the lateness of the hour that disturbed me. It was the fact that I had been targeted, but by whom I didn't know. My encounter with the vampire hunter had affected me more deeply than I wanted to admit.

I could not blame the Roman Catholic Church and its sinister minions in Opus Dei for hunting vampires. They saw us as creatures of darkness, aligned with the devil. In truth I was a demon only metaphorically. My sole connection to Lucifer was my guess that we vampires were perhaps dark angels cast out of heaven, just as that fallen archangel had been. But I knew I was a monster-a thing phantasmagoric and terrifying.

Yet many creatures who walk this earth are monsters. Most are human; a very few are not. I was not. I believed, however, that I had a right to exist. Although I was inhuman, I did possess a heart. And I did have a soul, even if it was one deeply stained and terribly defiled.

I shook my head at the irony of my life. It is easy for those born good to be good. For me, transformed into a vampire, a thing innately bad, it was difficult. Yet I strove to be principled. I tried for goodness, despite my nature. You must believe me: I tried.

It was not easy for me, and sometimes I failed-terribly, tragically. Tonight, as on all nights, the darkness without and within concealed the deadly impulses that I did not want, but that to my lasting sorrow I so undeniably had. They raged up in me now as I spotted a lone figure standing not fifty feet away on the corner of Twenty-third Street and Broadway.

A man, appearing to be so young that he was more a boy than man, dallied there. He seemed to be in no hurry to either hail a cab or cross with the changing traffic light. He pulled a cigarette pack out of his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He lit it with a lazy motion, then drew in deeply so the tip glowed red. He exhaled slowly, the smoke trailing upward in the windless night. He appeared engrossed in the enjoyment of smoking, unaware or uncaring of all else.

Desire surged through me. How simple it would be to approach him. He would see only a pretty woman coming his way, not a threat, not a reason to feel the dread he should when a vampire came for his blood.

As I watched him, he raised his head and saw me. My heart lurched. My body urged me to go now, quickly, and take him. But my mind and my scruples stopped me. I looked away and forced myself to step toward the street to hail a cab. The young man's luck held that night. A taxi pulled over. I got in and gave the driver the address of the biker bar on West Street.

As the cab accelerated and began its journey down the avenue, I turned my head and glanced through the back window. The young man was gone. Only then did I feel a frisson of fear. I had been watching him, but had he been there, at that time and place, for the purpose of watching me? Had he been spying on me? Was he an agent of Opus Dei: a vampire hunter trained to a.s.sa.s.sinate us? Or was he one of J's men, for as I just said, there was no trust in our business, and of all the Darkwings I believed J, because I resisted him, trusted me the least.

Now, a solitary vampire making my peripatetic way through the streets of New York, I promised myself to be vigilant. I did not intend to die with a wooden stake through my inhuman, but so often broken, heart.

When I alighted from the cab on West Street, dampness enveloped me. The smell of rot and mud infused the air. I heard water slapping the pier on the other side of the ugly scar of roadway that rims this side of Manhattan. I, true to my vow, carefully surveyed my surroundings, getting ready if necessary to fight for my life.

Nothing living moved. I saw only the blank, sightless windows above me and the dull brick walls of the aging tenements that lined the block. A mist had risen from the river and crept on silent feet along the ground. It crawled up the buildings and swirled around my ankles. This was a night for foul things, for mischief makers, and for death to roam. After all, I was here, was I not?

I crossed the sidewalk and mounted the few stairs leading to the battered, gouged door of Charlie's Harley Hangout. I pounded hard with my fist. After a moment the door opened a few inches. Eyes filled with suspicion peered out at me. Then the door swung wide and a bald man with a soft, wide belly said, "Your friends are sitting in the back." He shut the door behind me and walked away.

I stepped into the room; cigarette smoke had turned the air a hazy blue. My eyes burned. The voice of Stevie Ray Vaughan wailed over the sound system about being a good Texan. I wished I were someplace else.

Vampire males filled nearly every table. Their distinct odor made me stiffen with distaste. I detected their breath, tainted with blood, and the muskiness of their animal spoor. Those who looked up at my entrance viewed me with a predatory interest, their eyes reflecting gold like a cat's, their pupils as dark as the black realms of h.e.l.l.

These creatures were my kind, but they were not what I wanted to be.

I gathered my courage and started toward the horseshoe-shaped bar, trying to avoid contact with any of these fiends. Nevertheless a hand brushed my thigh as I threaded my way through the closely arranged tables. I reacted and turned angrily to face the intruder. A good-looking biker wearing cowboy boots and a Stetson winked a green eye at me.

I flipped him the bird and he laughed.

You and me, he mouthed.

"In your dreams," I snapped, and continued on.

A skinny woman with pale blond hair and purple smudges under her eyes tended bar. "Don't mind Sam none," she said, her accent rich with a Western tang. "He's a good guy when he's sober. Course, that's none too often," she added, then asked, "What'll you have?"

"A Virgin Mary. I need a clear head."

"I hear you," she said, and pulled a bottle of b.l.o.o.d.y Mary mix from the refrigerator under the bar.

"I remember you." She set the drink down in front of me and I handed her a ten. "Don't often see a woman who can fight like that," she said, smiling.

I smiled back. "Well, I was in a bit of a bad mood that night, and getting hit with a chair p.i.s.sed me off."

"Only a d.a.m.ned fool would mess with you again real quick. You take care, you hear?" she said as I walked away, looking around for my friends.

My four teammates had an empty chair waiting for me. It made me feel a little better, a little less lonely.

"How was your bike ride?" I asked as I moved the chair over next to Benny.

She held up her arm, revealing a long tear in her jean jacket. "Little spill going across Fourteenth Street," she said. "Otherwise it was almost like flying. I'm thinking about getting a Harley of my own."

"Probably safer than riding with Cormac," I muttered, which earned me a dirty look from him. I flipped my chair around to sit on it backward, straddling it with my legs and leaning my arms on the back. The ambience of the place kicked my adrenaline up a notch, and this position made it easier to move fast if I had to.

The big bulk of Rogue filled the chair across from mine. Audrey sat tight against him. I noticed her bandaged wrist again and nodded toward it. "What happened?"

"You know the compet.i.tion we hold at the vampire club every night?"

I did know. Audrey spent her off hours at a funky club on lower Second Avenue called Lucifer's Laundromat. Part of New York's vampire underworld, a demimonde of debauchery, the patrons of this club specialized in what they called "blood sports"-an organized nightly hunt, not for foxes, but for young, fresh victims with smooth, white necks and rich, red blood.

Audrey held up her wounded arm. "It was the oddest thing. I went out with my team, the Chasers, the way I always do. I swooped down on a big guy on West Eighth Street. He pulled out what I thought was a knife. Turned out to be a wooden stake. I blocked the blow, but it penetrated my wrist right into the bone."

All of us stared at her. I frowned. "Was it a vampire hunter?"

Surprise crossed Audrey's face. "No. I don't think so. Not that I ever encountered one. I never have. I mean, if this guy was a vampire hunter, he wasn't after any of us at the Laundromat. He was just walking down the block. I think he was simply a weirdo. It was a fluke he had a stake on him."

Benny was looking at me, a question in her eyes. Did she think I should tell the others I was attacked? I gave my head a little shake no in her direction, keeping it so subtle that I hoped n.o.body else would notice it. I remembered what Mar-Mar had said-that a vampire attack was never a random event. Of course, this hadn't been an attack by a vampire hunter. If anything it was Audrey's attack on on some guy who carried a wooden stake around with him. Yet it seemed too coincidental to be a freak accident. some guy who carried a wooden stake around with him. Yet it seemed too coincidental to be a freak accident.

I thought for a moment, then said, "He could be one of those humans who take us seriously. You know, they carry crucifixes in their pockets and wear garlic around their necks. That's why he had a stake on him. If he was a hunter, it was really bad luck to choose him, or..."

"Or what?" Audrey said.

"I don't know. Just a thought. Maybe the hunters have heard about the human capturing contest you and your friends run nightly at Lucifer's Laundromat. They could be searching the area for you."

Audrey pulled a face, obviously not agreeing. "Oh, come on. How likely is that? We vampires keep our game really quiet, and the humans don't remember what happened when they wake up the next day. You're just being paranoid. Truly I think the guy was one of the world's crazies. They all seem to end up down in the Village. He probably thinks carrying metal will attract radio waves or something."

"You'd better keep your eyes open," Rogue said, "but I agree. It was a random thing."

Benny gave my s.h.i.+n a hard kick with her Manolos. I ignored her. If I said anything now, Audrey would tell everybody in the club there were vampire hunters in New York. Before long panic would set in. Vampires would be fleeing the city. I felt it would be premature to say anything. The vampire hunter the other night had targeted me and me alone. If I found out otherwise, I'd warn the others.

But Benny was talking now. Was she going to rat me out?

"Audrey, can I ask y'all something?" she said, a furrow between her brows.