Текст книги "Cloud City"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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CLOUD CITY
Anna Strong Chronicles – 8.5
By
Jeanne C. Stein

Chapter One

Witches come in two flavors: good and bad. A while ago, I would have pegged the witch sitting across from me squarely in the goodcategory. But that was before I killed her sister, the black witch Belinda Burke.

Sophie Deveraux hasn’t said two words since appearing unexpectedly at my office door. It happens I’m alone since my bounty hunting business partners, David and Tracey, are in Arizona tracking a skip. I elected to stay behind and handle office duties. The last few months I’ve had more than my share of excitement.

My name is Anna Strong. I’m a vampire. Not just any vampire, but the Chosen One. Which means besides the usual problems vampires face, finding safe food sources, hiding my identity from my human family, avoiding the pitfalls that would “out” me to an unsuspecting mortal world, I have other uber-vamps to contend with. Not all of whom wish me well.

But that’s another story.

Right now, I’m alone with a witch whose intentions I can’t read. Sophie looks twenty-something. Her perfect face is framed by shoulder-length dark hair. Her skin stretches smooth over high cheekbones, her thick-lashed eyes are clear and blue as a summer sky. Her mouth is pursed a little, an indication that she’s not overjoyed at being here. She’s dressed in tailored slacks and a form fitting jersey top that emphasizes her full figure.

I have a feeling it’s not a top that Sophie picked out herself.

Of course not.A familiar masculine voice intrudes on my thoughts. I’m trying to update her wardrobe and it’s no easy task. She has the taste of a puritan.

Sophie’s lips grow thinner.

I smile. Hello Jonathan. Wondered when you’d speak up.

At that, Sophie decides to speak up, too. “Being here is his idea. Not mine.”

And it’s a damned good one.Jonathan’s voice fairly crackles with anger. Anna can help us. And if you’d like to continue breathing, and just for the record, I would very much like you to continue breathing, you’ll let her.

The very first time I heard a male voice projecting from that petite, feminine body, I thought Sophie had been possessed. By what, I had no idea. But it creeped me out. Turns out, what happened to her was Sophie’s doing. She didn’t intend to share her body with a vampire but after Jonathan was immolated by his wife at a birthday party, Sophie mixed his ashes in with a face cream. She thought it might reverse the ageing process. It did, but the side effect was that she absorbed his essence. Now she’s a hybrid vampire-witch with the physical perfection of a twenty year old and the abilities of an eighty-year-old very powerful witch.

And since their two personalities are polar opposites, it’s not exactly a smooth cohabitation.

The vampire side, Jonathan, can speak to me telepathically. Sophie, though, while she can hear our head talk if Jonathan allows her access, can only speak to either of us in the mortal way. Her emotions are felt by Jonathan and vice versa.

Personally, I don’t know how she keeps from going insane.

I shift in my chair, waiting for one of them to tell me the reason they’re here. When neither takes the initiative, I do.

“I take it this isn’t a social call.”

Sophie releases a deep sigh, not a wistful sigh, but a frustrated, angry one. “Jonathan has gotten us in a mess. Another mess, I might add. Because of his vanity he’s put my life in danger.”

Mine, too, don’t forget. If you die, I die.

She sniffs. “You should have thought of that sooner.”

How could I have known of all the editors at all the publishing houses, we would have ended up with one with a grudge?

Sophie opens her mouth to bark a retort, but I hold up a hand. “What are you talking about? What editor? What’s going on?”

Sophie’s mouth clamps shut as if waiting for Jonathan to reply. Jonathan is not jumping to the bait.

“One of you better tell me why you’re here. I do have other things to do.”

Sophie squirms in her chair, then leans forward. “Jonathan had this brilliant idea to make money. As if we need more.” She bites off the last words as if aiming them right at Jonathan.  “We’d write a vampire book. Based on his experiences. I’d be the public face of the book and he’d provide the material.”

It was a great idea, Jonathan interjects. Just check out the best seller lists today. Charlaine Harris has made a bundle on her Sookie Stackhouse books, Richelle Mead and her Vampire Academy is a perennial best seller. Imagine how much better I could do? A real vampire with the inside track and a hundred plus years of experience to draw from? It was a sure thing.

“So what went wrong?”

Jonathan grows quiet. Sophie’s face grows dark with anger. “The genius here decided his first story will be about how he was turned. A brilliant story of love and betrayal. The very first editor it was given to accepted it immediately. Should have suspected right then something was wrong. But Jonathan just chalked it up to his dazzling writing style.”

Jonathan starts to interrupt but Sophie shuts him down with a quick follow-up. “The editor brought me to New York, wined and dined me, all the while pumping me for more details. Details, of course, Jonathan could provide. He offered us a huge advance, a national marketing campaign, all the things Jonathan had hoped for. The only catch was that he wanted me to accompany him to the scene of the story, to gather background info to add realism to the book. We, of course, agreed.”

Her last words drip sarcasm.

“I take it the trip didn’t go so well.”

“Haven’t made the trip yet but as soon as I got back to Denver from New York, the first incident occurred.”

“Incident?”

“At the airport. We’d chartered a jet for the trip. Another of Jonathan’s vanities.”

Joanthan growls. Didn’t see you complaining when we skipped those irritating security lines.

Sophie ignores the mocking aside.

“I was getting into a taxi to go home and someone took a shot at me. The bullet missed, but smashed the cab’s rear window. The police are still investigating but are inclined to chalk it up to a random crazy. I was so grateful to be alive, I accepted the theory.”

“But you don’t now?”

“Not after it happened a second time. This time I was out riding on the property. And this time, the bullet missed me, but not my horse.” For the first time, her face softens, her mouth wilts in sadness. “He killed my horse.” The flicker of sorrow is gone as quickly as it appeared to be replaced once again by stony anger. “I could have been seriously injured when he went down, but of course, those vampire genes kept that from happening.”

Something she’s yet to thank me for.

“Don’t hold your breath. None of this would have happened if you weren’t such a greedy bastard.”

Sophie is on the verge of a full-blown tirade. I stave it off by jumping in. “I don’t understand. Why do you think Jonathan’s book has anything to do with the attacks on your life?”

Sophie sits back in her chair, spine stiff, hands gripping the arms of the chair with white-knuckled ferocity. “You want to tell her, genius?”

Jonathan lets a groan come through. I couldn’t have foreseen this in a million years.”

My patience is growing as thin as Sophie’s temper. “Foreseen what?” I snap.

“He used real names in his book,” Sophie snaps right back. “And locations.”

“So?”

Jonathan’s tone at last shows a modicum of regret. The editor who bought the book is the great-grandson of the vampire who turned me.

CHAPTER TWO

I suppose I should have been surprised. But after all I’ve experienced in the time since I became vampire, it’s damn hard to be surprised by anything. So instead of reacting with shock or incredulity, I ask the logical question, “And just how did you determine that the editor is the great-grandson of the vampire who sired you?”

I can hear the shrug in Jonathan’s voice. How does one determine anything these days? I had Sophie do a Google search.We traced the genealogy of the mortal relatives of my sire. Steven Prendergast is indeed one of them.

“Steven Prendergast? He’s the editor?”

Sophie nods glumly.

“But what makes you think he’s behind the attacks on your life?”

“I saw him the second time. He was running toward the road after shooting my horse. He glanced back and I recognized him.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Tell the police what? That the editor of the vampirebook I wrote is out to get me because he thinks I know the one responsible for turning his great-grandmother? Because that’s what we suspect this is all about. We were able to access newspaper archives from the 1800’s. The disappearance of Prendergast’s great-grandmother’s caused a scandal in the family. Her missing corpse, the fact that she was sighted long after her ‘death’, the bloodless corpses that turned up. The entire family was disgraced.”

My head is spinning. “How in the world did you end up with the one editor who has connections to Jonathan?”

Sophie huffs out a breath. “How do you think? Jonathan when he was—” she pauses, as if searching for the right word, “ corporealhad many contacts in the entertainment world. One was a lawyer in New York. Jonathan had me send the lawyer the manuscript under the guise of my new identity, Jonathan’s niece. I told him it was a recounting of an old family story I’d heard from my mother. He read it, liked it, and gave it to an editor friend of his who just happened to be big in the genre. Steven Prendergast is editor to many of today’s top vampire writers.”

I place both hands on the desk and lean forward. “But why would he attack you immediately instead of waiting until he got you alone on that research trip he proposed? Wouldn’t that have made more sense?”

Sophie’s perfect brow wrinkles. “I don’t know what he’s thinking. He must know I’m human since he keeps taking shots at me. At the same time, he believes in vampires. We thought maybe we could convince him to meet with us before he goes too far. But he won’t return my calls. I get the same message from his assistant every time I call. He’s not available.” She leans forward, hands clasped on the desktop. “I want this nightmare to end. I’ve told his assistant I’m backing out of the deal. That I’ll return the advance. Still, nothing. I’m afraid to go outside, afraid to run a simple errand. I want my life back.”

The emphasis she puts on the last words reflects more than a simple desire to resolve the issue with Prendergast. It’s obvious to me she is tired of sharing her consciousness with Jonathan. When she says she wants her life back, she means allof it.

The fact that Jonathan does not immediately respond with a snarky remark is proof that he feels her frustration, too. The silence that stretches between us is fraught with tension. It sizzles in the air like static electricity until even my nerves start to hum.

I shift in my chair. Clear my throat to ease the strain. Ask, “So why did you come to me?”

Sophie closes her eyes a moment, shakes her shoulders as if shaking off the lingering effects of a bad dream. Then she meets my gaze. “We want you to come with us to Leadville.”

“Leadville?”

“Leadville, Colorado. Where the story takes place. We figure we’ll draw Prendergast out. It’s a very small town, isolated. He won’t be able to hide and we can confront him on our terms. Make him understand what happened and that I’m not the person he should be attacking.”

Again, an undercurrent of meaning swirls beneath the surface of her words, subtle but aimed at Jonathan like the sharpened point of a stake.

I’ve never seen Sophie like this. Never felt such rage. When I killed her sister, she was angry with me but she knew her sister had crossed the line. She knew that Belinda Burke caused the deaths of many innocents and would undoubtedly have killed again. What she didn’t know, what I didn’t tell her, was that her sister had sworn revenge against Sophie, too, so I accepted her anger.

But the anger of this woman sitting across from me is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It rages deep inside, tightly contained. If the door is ever opened, that rage will burst forth like a back draft, consuming everything in its path.

I pretend to consult the calendar on the desk in front of me when in reality I’m debating if I want to be around when Sophie lets go.

It’s bad, Jonathan’s voice in my head reminds me that I’d forgotten to shield my thoughts. She’s wound so tight lately, I’m afraid she’s going to do something drastic.

Is that why you want me along?

I know your relationship with Sophie is strained since what happened with Belinda. But she trusted you before. Maybe you can help diffuse this situation before it gets worse.

Sophie’s eyes are downcast, she isn’t privy to the conversation going on between Jonathan and me. You don’t seem to be helping,I reply archly.

I admit, in hindsight, the book was a mistake. But I did it as much for Sophie as for myself. She lives like a recluse. I wanted to get her out in the world.

You wanted to get yourself out in the world.

Okay. Yes. I’m going crazy in that house. We have no friends. No social life.

You seem to forget. Sophie looks like a twenty year old. She’s really over eighty. She needs time to adjust to her new reality.

Time? It’s been well over a year. How much time–?

“Well,” Sophie brings me back with a start. “Will you come with us? I’d like to leave immediately.”

I’m fingering the corner of the calendar. David and Tracey can handle anything going on in the office.

And I owe Sophie. She saved the lives of two of my dearest friends. “I’ll need a day or two. I have to wait for my business partners to get back. They’re due tomorrow, Saturday at the latest. I can meet you in Denver. Will that be all right?”

“It will have to be.” Sophie stands, pushing the chair out of the way with a jerk.

“How will you let Prendergast know what we’re doing?”

“He’s obviously been following us. He’ll know. Just in case, I’ll leave a message– anothermessage—with his assistant telling him I’m leaving for Leadville on my own.”

I rise, too, come around the desk. “Be careful. I’ll call as soon as I’m ready to leave.”

“Don’t waste too much time.” Sophie’s tone teeters on the edge of a warning. “I want thisover with.”

She leaves, spine straight, shoulders tense. Nothing from Jonathan. He’s probably wondering the same thing I am—which thisdoes she want over?

* * *

I use the time waiting for David and Tracey to do a little research on my own. Leadville at 10,430 feet above sea level is listed as the highest incorporated city in North America—if you can call a place with a population under three thousand a city. Pictures show one main street running straight through town and lined with historic buildings, most dating from the 1800’s. Not a mall or movie theatre in sight. Hunting, mountain biking and fishing are listed as the main attractions. None of which I find the least appealing. And when I read descriptions like “quaint” and “unpretentious” to describe lodging, I start to get nervous.

But Leadville does have an airport. I check with my pilot and he says we can fly directly there from San Diego. Good. From Denver it looks like a long car ride and being cooped up with Sophie and Jonathan is not my idea of a good time. I should feel guilty for not offering to stop for them, but if I do that, it means I have to take them back to Denver, too.

Call me selfish, but when our adventure is over, I want to be able to make a clean getaway.

David and Tracey make it back, skip in tow. They have no objection to my taking off for a few days. In fact, from the looks passing between the two, I have a feeling more went on during their trip then just bounty hunting. Fine with me. They’re both unattached adults and I know Tracey has had the hots for David for sometime. I say, go for it, girl.

When I call Sophie to tell her I’ll meet her in Leadville, she sounds calmer then before. She tells me she’s made reservations for us in the best hotel in Leadville, The Delaware Hotel, right in the middle of town. We make plans to meet in twenty-four hours.

I can hardly wait.

CHAPTER THREE

The flight from San Diego takes about three hours. I learned from my trusty pilot that he was excited about the trip. Turns out the Leadville Airport is the highest elevation airport in North America. He saw it as a chance to do a little high altitude performance testing. I wasn’t so enthusiastic about the testing part, but since he always seems to know what he’s doing, and if I go down, he goes down, I didn’t waste much time worrying about it.

After we land, I send the crew on to Denver. No use subjecting them to the limited attractions of an old west-mining town. I made reservations for them in the Ritz Carlton downtown and told them to take a few days vacation on me. After looking Leadville over, they were more than happy to take me up on it. Since once in the air, they can make it to Leadville from Denver literally in minutes, when I’m ready to leave, all I’ll have to do is call.

The airport is a short car ride from Leadville. It’s mid-day and the main drag is quiet, only a few cars parked here and there. The town is ringed with snow-capped peaks even though it’s summer. The driver takes me to the hotel and when he disgorges me and my bags, refuses the tip I offer.

“Complements of the Leadville airport,” he says.

I watch him drive away open-mouthed. Who ever refuses a tip?

Definitely not in Kansas anymore.

The hotel itself is a sprawling brick building occupying an entire city block. I’m always leery of old hotels. I’ve had a few experiences with spirits who are bound to their earthly abodes and it hasn’t been pleasant. When I walk into the Delaware, though, I feel none of the goose-fleshy, hair-raising warnings that the presence of such spirits usually awakens in my vampire nature. The vampire remains quiet and undisturbed.

So far, so good.

Sophie made reservations in both our names so I am able to check into my room. It’s a very nice room, done in tasteful antiques, clean, with modern bathroom fixtures. The view from the window stretches up and down the street. The sidewalks are nearly empty.

Who would choose to live in such an isolated place?

Since Sophie hasn’t checked in yet, I take a walk to scope out the town. The entire city was built well before 1900; plaques commemorate one historic building after another. The colors are vibrant under the summer sky—red, green, lavender, blue. Victorians beautifully restored and lovingly cared for. Even I find myself impressed.

But I didn’t come for the architecture.

I circle back to the hotel and ask if Sophie has arrived. She hasn’t. I take a seat in the lobby, doing some mental finger tapping, impatient. Where are they? I’m deciding which saloon I past during my walk to go to for a drink when a man walks in and asks the same question of the receptionist that I had moments before.

“Has Sophie Deveraux checked in yet?”

The guy is in his thirties, slicked back dark hair, face with features that can only be described as sharp. Angular cheekbones, square jaw, high forehead. He’s dressed in a business suit that pegs him immediately as a tourist and from the cut and style of the suit, a big city tourist. Gucci wingtips on his feet and an expensive leather suitcase complete the picture.

Definitely big city.

Steven Prendergast?

He completes his registration, scribbles a note on a piece of hotel stationery and hands it to the clerk. “Please see that Ms. Deveraux gets this will you?”

Steven Prendergast.

The clerk takes it. “Sure thing. Here’s your key. Room 302, top of the stairs.”

302, huh? Right next door. I let him go ahead and wait a discreet amount of time before heading to my own room, 300. Maybe I can pick up a tidbit or two by eavesdropping on Prendergast. If he makes a telephone call, for instance, my vampiric powers will allow me to hear. Old hotels do have one distinct advantage—thin walls.

He does make one call, but to his office. A checking in call to let someone named Nancy know that he arrived at the hotel and where he can be reached in an emergency. Nothing to indicate that he’s up to anything other than a business trip. He mentions Sophie’s name and that he expects their business to be wrapped up in less than two days.

Brief. Nothing ominous.

Disappointing.

My cell phone chimes. I move away from the wall just in case Prendergast’s hearing is better than average, too. It’s Sophie.

“We’re in the lobby,” she says, sounding breathless. “Prendergast left me a message. I’m to call him when we get in. Arrange dinner plans. What should I do?”

“Prendergast knows nothing about me, right?”

“Don’t know how he could. The trip to see you in San Diego was last minute and we were gone less than one day. Why?”

“Make those plans. Let me know where you’re going. Stay in your room until it’s time to meet him. I’ll tail you.”

She agrees, starts to ring off.

“Wait a minute. I’m in room 300, he’s in 302. Ask for a room on the second floor.”

Sophie says she will and we end the call.

Now I have nothing to do but wait for Sophie to make those dinner plans. I plop myself on the bed and let my mind wander. A hundred years from now, will I be recalling the year I became vampire with more regret than satisfaction over the choices I’ve made? If I could start over, what would I have done differently?

The questions prickle like an irritating bug bite. I’ve had little choice in anything I’ve done in the last year. The one decision I may have made in haste was killing a helpless Belinda Burke. She was evil and I told myself I was protecting both Sophie and myself, but could I have handled it differently? Is Sophie’s attitude now a result of what I did? My desire for revenge was strong and I disregarded Sophie’s plea to spare her sister’s life.

The practical side of my brain chimes in. I did what had to be done to protect my family. No use second-guessing myself now. It’s done and I can’t undo it even if I wanted to. The problem now is helping Sophie recover her equilibrium. Concentrate on the problem at hand.

When Sophie calls with the dinner arrangements, I’m more than ready to concentrate on something other than my shortcomings. They’re meeting Prendergast in the Calloway, the hotel bar, at six, then going to The Matchless Steak House for dinner at seven. I remember passing the Matchless on my walk this afternoon. It’s a short distance from the hotel. I tell Sophie I’ll get there before they do and look the place over. From the outside, it didn’t look like a very big place and odds are there’ll be a bar where I can inconspicuously eavesdrop on the conversation. In the meantime, I remind her to stay in her room. I’m keeping an eye (or ear) out for Prendergast.

He doesn’t leave his room either. I hear the tap of fingers on a keyboard and guess he’s working. He makes no calls and about five thirty, comes the sound of running water from the shower. I duck out of my room a few minutes after I hear Prendergast leave and head for the bar.

The Calloway is what you’d expect in a bar in a vintage hotel. Dark, lots of wood, lots of brass. I pass through and see Sophie and Prendergast, their heads together, talking quietly. Neither looks up as I pass by. I pick a bar stool close to the door and nurse a beer. Sophie’s demeanor is calm, relaxed, unthreatened. Prendergast has changed into jeans and an open-neck shirt under a leather jacket. Much more appropriate attire for Leadville. His expression is serious but I’m not getting any warning vibes to alert me that Sophie is in immediate danger. Obviously, she isn’t either. There’s too much ambient noise for me to zero in on their conversation. At one point, Sophie looks up and spies me at the bar. Her eyes flick away and back and Jonathan’s voice is in my head.

Interesting development. Go on to the restaurant. We’ll meet you there.

There’s a halting quality to his words that makes me uneasy. What’s going on?

No reply. The conduit between us is shut.

So at six forty-five, I leave for The Matchless. Like everything else along the main drag, The Matchless is a throwback to the days when Leadville was a booming mining town. Brick front, dark, shuttered windows. When I push through the door, I’m greeted with the smell of grilling beef and a hundred years of cigar and cigarette smoke. Mementos, mining paraphernalia, and gilded photos of a couple named Tabor line the walls and the back of the bar. A glance at one of them and the origin of the bar’s name becomes clear. Evidently this couple had a mine in Leadville named The Matchless.

The bar stretches along one wall. The rest of the place is filled with a dozen tables and booths. All are occupied. I hope Prendergast made reservations.

I take a seat at the bar, one of only two left. The place buzzes with conversation and laughter. From what I pick up, this is a popular place with the locals.

The bartender is a grizzled, grey-haired guy of indeterminate age. He’s wearing overalls and a flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He wanders down to my end of the bar and slaps a coaster in front of me. No smile, but he’s not glowering at me either.

“What’ll it be?”

I peruse the draft handles, surprised at the number of German brews available. I would have pegged this for a Millers or Budweiser kind of place. “Paulaner Oktoberfest.”

He does a quick about face and expertly fills a glass.

“Nice pour.”

His mouth twitches. A hint of blossoming good will? He moves away from me, to the middle of the bar, before I can be sure.

I’ve taken two appreciative swallows of my beer when the door swings open.

Sophie and Prendergast enter, pausing just inside the vestibule. Sophie looks around and then does the last thing I expect. She walks right up to me.

“Anna,” she says. “Please join us. I’ve told Steven all about you.”